Final Straw
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: What would it take for Dean to fulfill his promise to Sam and to their father? How far would he go to save Sam, and what would he do if he couldn't? Evil!Sam, captive!Dean, and the end of the world as we know it.
1. Silenced

Title: Final Straw  
Author: Zubeneschamali  
Rating: T (language, violence)  
Summary: As hard as he tried, Dean couldn't erase the fact that it was his little brother he was preparing to shoot. Evil!Sam, captive!Dean, and the end of the world as we know it.  
Spoilers: Through 4.14, "Sex and Violence".

A/N: Never thought I'd write an evil!Sam story, but a single line of dialogue popped into my head, and 30,000 words later, here we are. The story title and lyrics with all their foreshadowy goodness come from the song of the same name by R.E.M. I owe ster1 big time for her freakin' awesome beta reading and for asking me lots of hard questions that led to a better story. Thanks also to Kasman for being the guinea pig and helping with the details. You both rock.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchesters or Castiel; they're the property of Eric Kripke and the CW folks. Nor do I own Lilith or Lucifer, but I'm pretty sure Kripke doesn't, either. At least I hope not.

Bonus disclaimer: I know there's a lot of fics about The End out there, and I can point to "What If" by SavingFaith and "War Zone" by darksupernatural as two (great) stories that definitely inspired me. I have _not_ yet read SavingFaith's "Losing My Religion", so any similarities between my story and hers are a really big coincidence. No infringement is intended of either story or any others on a similar theme. Also, note the lack of a deathfic disclaimer.

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as I raise my head to broadcast my objection  
as your latest triumph draws the final straw  
who died and lifted you up to perfection?  
and what silenced me is written into law.

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The worn chain link fence still sagged in the same places it had three years ago. Dean briefly wondered as he climbed it if the local kids had stopped daring each other to come here once the ghost of Dr. Ellicott was gone. More likely they had been careful to leave things as they had found them. People had a hard time resisting the lure of the forbidden, even when they damn well knew better.

His leather jacket caught slightly on the rusted metal of the fence, and he paused to loosen the fabric. There was no sound from inside the old asylum, and the street behind him was as silent as the grave. People were keeping inside after dark these days, huddling around their televisions and computers and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Hell was actually a pretty good word for it.

Dropping to the ground as silently as he could, Dean felt horribly exposed. There weren't any faces at the windows, black-eyed or otherwise, but he had no doubt the building was inhabited. The clues left in his Iowa motel room were too obvious to ignore. They were also too obvious for this to be anything other than a trap, given what had happened here three years ago, but he had no choice. If what he'd been hunting for the past week and a half really was here, he had to act now.

It hurt like a knife in his chest to think of this as hunting, but the words _If I didn't know you..._ sprung into his brain before he could help himself. Dean swallowed hard and gripped the handle of his weapon more firmly. It should have brought him relief or even joy to be holding Samuel Colt's special gun once again. After all, he had brought down the yellow-eyed demon with it, ending a lifelong quest of at least three Winchesters. On the other hand, an ally had paid a steep price to return this gun to his hands, and even though it was someone he had never expected to mourn for, it was still a blow.

And then there was the matter of what he was planning to do with the gun.

Dean grimaced and moved forward, hardening his heart and his mind. Based on the events of the last couple of weeks, ever since it became clear his brother's disappearance was connected to something darker than Dean could have ever imagined for him, he'd had to face the bitter truth. John Winchester's warning had been justified, the promise he'd drawn from Dean prophetic. Either Sam was possessed, or he had slid right down that slippery slope into being what his father had most feared. Either way, it meant Dean had failed to save him, and now far more people than him were paying the price.

But _saving_ Sammy hadn't been the entire promise.

He slowly pushed open the front door, unsurprised to find that it gave easily. The floor was thick with dust, but there were a number of different footprints crossing the entryway. There was also a wider swathe of cleared floor, as if something had been dragged through the space. Some of the prints went down the side hallway to the south wing, some towards the staircase leading to the upper floors, while the north hall looked untouched.

He turned to his right. The south hallway was in worse shape than last time he'd seen it, if that was even possible. The walls were a mixture of peeling paint and mildew, piles of unidentifiable debris stacked at their base. He remembered holding the EMF meter out in front of him, Sam walking beside him with the camcorder, both devices spitting out evidence that they were not alone. There'd been a constant feeling of someone watching them, and the camera had confirmed the existence of dozens of spirits. Now, the place felt empty—at least of ghosts.

Coming to a junction in the hallway, Dean slowed to a stop and listened. A steady drip of water from behind one of the walls was all he heard. He tried to remember the layout of this place, but it had been so long ago—forty-three years for him. Damn, sometimes he was impressed he remembered anything pre-Hell, given how long ago it had been.

Not that he was likely to forget the image of his brother plugging him with a chestful of rock salt and then standing over him and pulling the trigger of Dean's own gun. No, those memories had stayed with him, carefully preserved like a damn scrapbook page. He briefly wondered if the rage and hatred he'd seen on his brother's face way back then had been an early warning sign that he should have paid more attention to.

_Like hell it was_, he snapped at himself. No, Sam had disappeared like this before, had been turned into something he wasn't by that black-eyed bitch who'd taken such delight in turning his brother against him. _ It happened before. _

He kept telling himself that, like he had ever since his little brother had vanished from their motel room in the dead of night. Like he had after Uriel had suddenly appeared in the Impala's passenger seat a few days later, talking about the war and seals and Castiel off on a mission. Not that Dean had given a crap about what the angel was saying until he mentioned Sam. _Then_ he started to pay attention.

And he didn't like what he heard.

Uriel had explained to him with less condescension than normal that they were down to eight seals because a tall, brown-haired man fitting Sam's description had been spotted earlier that night casting the spell that broke the ninth. Dean had refused to believe him, but a secondhand vision from the angel had shown him his brother's features on a man opening a goddamn crack in the ground. That night the news had been filled with reports of the 7.6 earthquake that had rocked Northern California, shattering buildings and water mains and freeway overpasses and looking like it was going to be equal to the 1989 quake in terms of casualties.

The epicenter was on the campus of Stanford University.

The days after that had become a dark blur of almost no food and even less sleep. It took a two-fingered forehead touch from Uriel to put him out, but even that only lasted a few hours. Dean spent his time driving blindly from one state to another, for once in his life following the news—because the events Sam had gotten caught up in (he stubbornly refused to believe Sam had _caused_ them, no matter what the dark-skinned angel said) were big enough to be noticed by more than hunters. The newscasters were more confused than alarmed at the strange weather and odd animal behavior, but Dean had the feeling it was only a matter of time before the public at large became aware that something big was going down.

Especially once the last of the seals was broken.

Dean shook off the thought and steadied his hold on his weapon before cautiously peering around the corner. The hallway was clear in both directions, and he still heard nothing but his own too-fast breathing and the steady drip from the long-leaking pipe. He couldn't remember where this hall led, but he supposed it didn't matter. After doing a mental _eeny meeny miney moe_, he shifted his weight to move to the left.

The scrape of a footstep on the concrete directly behind made him freeze for a second before whirling around sharply, bringing the Colt to bear on—

Sam, who stood not ten feet in front of him.

He was wearing the same scruffy jeans and layers of t-shirt and flannel that Dean had seen him in all his life. But his bearing was different: shoulders back, head held high, arms loosely down at his sides, and fingers slowly flexing as if he was itching to wrap them around somebody's throat.

And his eyes were amber yellow.

Dean felt his heart drop somewhere below his stomach as he wrapped his fingers more firmly around the gun.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said casually, blinking. Now his eyes were their usual warm blue-green, leaving Dean to wonder if it had been a trick of the light.

"What's goin' on here, Sam?" Dean demanded. The words came out roughly, and he cleared his throat as he settled into a familiar stance: weight on his left foot, braced with his right leg towards the back, arms held out in front of him, aiming at his target.

"Been waiting for you," came the easy reply, followed by a scoffing noise. "Took you long enough. I even picked a place with some fond memories so you'd be able to find it again. Betcha got lost anyway."

The younger man didn't seem alarmed to have a gun pointed at him, and from the flare of recognition in his eyes, he obviously knew it was the Colt. That chilled Dean right down to the bone. How could whatever it was in Sam not be freaking out at having this weapon pointed at him, knowing what it could do?

For the first time, Dean wondered if he had made a mistake in coming.

"So what else have you been picking out of Sam's brain, huh?" he asked. "Besides the hottest libraries in town?"

"Oh, you think this isn't me?" Sam's eyebrows went up as he gestured down at himself. "You came here to play hero and save me from another siren or something? Dude, get a clue." He hooked the fingers of his left hand into his shirt collar and pulled it down over his collarbone. The swirling tattoo was intact on his chest. "Nothing's getting in here that I don't want to." He let go of the cloth and jerked his chin towards Dean. "Gimme the flask."

Dean hesitated for a moment, then figured as long as he had the gun in his hand, he still had the upper hand. Continuing to hold the Colt steady, he pulled his silver flask of holy water out of his inside jacket pocket. "_Christo_," he said as he tossed it.

Sam snatched the flask out of the air without hesitation. "Cross shapeshifter off the list. Oh, and demon, too." He opened the flask and poured a little water into a cupped hand. As if it were aftershave, he splashed it on his jaw and cheeks.

Nothing happened.

With a wink, Sam took a swig from the flask and smacked his lips. "Ah. Refreshing."

Dean swallowed, his mouth dry. He had been so sure it wasn't Sam. Even after everything Uriel had said and shown him, Dean had been sure there was another explanation. But now...

"I can see the gears turning in that tiny little brain of yours, bro. You're wondering what's going on, what's possessing me." Sam capped the flask and tucked it away in his front pocket. "And the answer is: nothing." He spread his arms wide. "This is one hundred percent. Pure. Sam."

Dean's lip curled up in response to the words that he'd never known his brother had heard in the Wyoming cemetery. "Then I better hear a damn good explanation from you about what the hell is going on out there. _Bro_."

"I haven't really gotten out much lately," Sam replied with a light shrug. "People to meet, worlds to conquer, that sort of thing. Why don't you fill me in?"

"Like you don't know," Dean retorted, taking a step forward. "You're the one who's been out there breaking the damn seals. Tell me you have a good reason for that."

Sam moistened his lips. "I do," he said simply.

"You wanna share?" Dean growled to cover the stomach-sinking fear those words gave him as he raised the gun slightly higher and prayed that he would have the strength to do what might need to be done here.

"Not particularly, no. At least not right now." Sam slowly crossed his arms over his chest, and Dean was sharply reminded of just how large his brother was. As muscular as his frame had gotten over the past couple of years, it seemed to have grown even more in the past two weeks.

"Then tell me what the hell I'm supposed to think, huh?" His voice was rising, and Dean forced himself to keep it in check. "The Book of Revelation is coming to life outside, and you seem to be there every time something happens. California's had the Big One, half of New Mexico is on fire...damn it, the whole state of Kansas is being eaten up by locusts."

"Huh." Sam cocked his head slightly to the side. "I thought you hated Kansas."

Dean stared at him in bewilderment. "That is _so_ not the point."

Sam lightly shrugged. "Actions have unintended consequences, Dean. Like leaving a trail so that you could find me. You being here is the expected result. What you came bearing with you—that was unexpected." He nodded at the Colt. "Thanks, by the way. I really appreciate it."

"What are you talking about?" Dean snarled back, gripping the gun tight enough that his hands ached.

"I wasn't sure how I was going to get a hold of it," Sam replied easily. "You've made things a lot easier for me."

A chill ran down his spine. Uriel hadn't tracked down the Colt and fought off a host of demons for Dean to hand it right over. The last thing the angel had said was a prayer that Dean would have the balls to use it when the time came. Dean hadn't known that angels could use that kind of language, but then Uriel had collapsed and there was no way to ask him about it.

Even though Castiel had said it was possible, he'd never thought he'd see an angel die in front of him.

The memory brought a wave of despair with it, and Dean clenched his jaw so tight that it hurt. "Guess Uriel was right about you," he spat out.

For a moment, Sam looked hurt. "You're still listening to that dick? The guy who called us mud monkeys and wanted to kill a thousand innocent people 'cause he was afraid of me?"

He wasn't touching that one with a ten-foot pole. "I brought this here for you, all right," Dean retorted, his eyes flickering down to the gun and then back up to Sam. "But not like you think."

A mocking smile curved the corners of the taller man's lips. Sam spoke carefully as he said, "The thing is, Dean, if you think you need that, then you should also know that it's not going to do you any good."

Dean swallowed hard. "This gun can kill anything," he said hoarsely. "And you know that."

Sam's eyebrow quirked up. "If you have the balls to use it, that is."

Praying his voice wouldn't break, he replied, "I don't want to hurt you, Sam. I swear to God, I don't. But this has got to stop. _You_ have to stop."

Sam took a slow step forward. "You don't understand, Dean."

"You're damn right I don't!" he shot back. "What you've been doing, who you think you are...We get down to ten seals and then you disappear and up and start breaking them like you're on their side." Moisture crept into his eyes and he furiously blinked it away before slipping his finger off the trigger guard and onto the trigger. "All I know is that you're not Sam anymore. My brother is _gone_."

He'd said that before under the poisoned spell of an ancient being who'd very nearly made him kill his own brother, but the words had still rung with an echo of the truth. Now he was in his own mind and sighting down the barrel, trying as hard as he could to think of this as another target, another thing that had to be hunted.

But as hard as he tried, Dean couldn't erase the fact that it _was_ Sam's face he saw in front of him. It was his little brother that he was preparing to shoot.

"Dad made me promise." Dean spit out the words, trying to convince himself as much or more than anyone else. "_You_ made me promise." Then he spoke the words he never thought he would have to say. "And I'm here to carry out my end."

"You think you can do that?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, taking another step towards him.

"Stop right there," Dean demanded. "Don't come any closer."

"Or what?" Sam asked, his voice growing stronger. "You'll shoot? I don't think you can, Dean."

He lifted his chin, eyes flashing, drawing on the memory of all that had happened over the last two weeks to strengthen his resolve. "Wanna bet?"

And his finger tightened on the trigger.

A second later, Sam's hand shot out and to the side. His eyes never left Dean's as the gun flew out of his hand to clatter harmlessly against the floor. "I can't let you do that," he said calmly.

Dean stared after the gun for a moment and then back at his brother, his stomach sinking, his hands now without a weapon. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, trying for casual as he slowly snaked his right arm around behind him for his own pearl-handled Colt, figuring silver bullets from a standard gun were better than nothing.

But this time his voice did crack, and the fear of his brother he had sworn he would never have came leaking out through the gap.

Sam must have heard it, for he gave a knowing smirk as he advanced more confidently, stopping within arms' reach of him. Dean took an involuntary step back, stopping with a jolt as his back hit the wall of the hallway, fingers closing around the grip of his weapon.

There was nowhere to go.

Behind Sam, two men entered the hallway from a room a few yards back, eyes coal-black and menacing. Sam started to turn his head towards them, paused as if listening to something, then focused back on Dean. "Sorry, Dean," he said. Then his eyes narrowed. "But you're not standing in my way anymore."

And he raised his hands, fingers spread wide, and _pushed_.

Dean had been held up against walls by supernatural forces plenty of times, but it had never hurt so much. This time he had the added bonus of the anguish at how it was being done to him: how his own brother, whom he had raised and loved and trusted and sacrificed his life and his soul for was now standing on the side of the demons who were watching with undisguised glee.

His vision started to narrow, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes as he watched Sam's hands slowly curl into fists in time with the ebbing away of his consciousness. He feebly tried to lift an arm away from the wall, unsure if he was reaching out to his brother in anger or in supplication, but it was useless. His strength was draining away as fast as his awareness.

The last thing Dean registered before darkness descended over him was the utter blankness in his little brother's eyes.

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*big gulp* I think I'm ready...go ahead and click on that review link...


	2. Thrown

Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and the alerts make me happy as well. I'm really nervous about posting this story, so I appreciate your comments (positive as well as negative). Sorry this chapter is so short, but I think it does what it needs to do.

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I can't believe where circumstance has thrown me  
and I turn my head away  
if I look, I'm not sure that I could face you  
not again. not today. not today.

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A roughly plastered, water-stained ceiling overhead.

Something yielding and lumpy underneath him, probably a mattress.

Tension in his shoulders and thighs, as if both were being pulled apart.

Cold metal around both wrists and ankles.

Dean took in all of these things before lifting his head and discovering that yeah, his deductive skills were unfortunately dead on. He was spread-eagled on a bare twin mattress, all four limbs chained securely into place to the sturdy metal frame. A bit of wriggling around let him know that his gun and knife were gone from his waist, as was the backup blade at his ankle. There was no way to tell if the paper clip in his pocket was still there, but at this point, it wasn't gonna do him a hell of a lot of good anyway.

A whoosh of breath escaped him. He knew it had been stupid to come here. Oh, he'd put up a good front for Bobby, reassured the older hunter while giving purposefully vague answers as to where exactly he was going. He hadn't wanted anyone else being dragged into this with him if it went pear-shaped. They'd already lost one ally, and he was not about to let Bobby suffer the same fate.

Still, he damn well wished he'd had backup.

There was a soft click at the grimy door, and it slowly began to open. Dean lifted his head to see his brother standing tall in the doorway, hands at his sides, making it obvious that he wasn't touching the door as it moved. Behind him stood the same two goons who had been present when Dean was overpowered, their eyes darker than the hallway behind them.

The door creaked as it came to a stop against the wall, and Sam took a step forward. He was dressed all in black, from dark denim tucked into black boots to a silky-looking shirt with a crisp collar. The effect was to make him look even more dangerous than he'd already shown himself to be.

"I didn't realize that going dark side was quite so literal," Dean said as he jerked his chin towards his brother. "You pick that out yourself, Sammy? 'Cause I hate to tell you, but you're dressing like a girl."

"Dean, Dean, Dean." Sam shook his head in mock sorrow as he came forward. "Always with the misogynist insults. For someone who claims to like women so much, you sure don't show them much respect." He raised an arm over his head and leaned his weight on it over the wall at the foot of the mattress, using every inch of his height to loom over Dean. "You would think that by now you would have learned that women can be just as powerful as men. Lilith should have shown you that."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Well, I don't see her around here. Do you?"

"Not yet. But I'm sure she'll show up sooner or later, since this is where all the action's going to be."

He filed that one away for later. "You gonna introduce me to your new friends?" Dean asked, nodding towards the room's other two occupants.

"Oh, they're not my friends," came the disdainful response. "More like servants. Perks of the job, you might say."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Say what?"

Sam chuckled. "Can't lead a demon army if you don't have any soldiers. The higher-ranking ones get to stay off the battlefield, at least for now. Sort of my personal command."

"So is that what this is about?" Dean's throat tightened. "This is what I've been holding you back from? You gave in to the yellow-eyed bastard after all, decided to finish what he started?"

"Azazel is so 2007, Dean," Sam replied with a roll of his eyes. "Do try and keep up."

"Then what's with the yellow eyes?" he asked, remembering the previous day's heart-stopping revelation.

Sam grinned. "Dramatic effect." He blinked, and suddenly his eyes were shot through with yellow. Dean couldn't help shrinking back against the mattress, and Sam's smirk grew. He blinked again, and coal black filled the space between his eyelids. Another blink, and his irises were their regular blue-green, but the pupils were as red as a laser. Then he shook his head briefly, and his eyes were back to normal.

Dean swallowed. "Neat trick," he muttered, keeping his voice low so as not to give away how it was trembling.

"Thanks," Sam said brightly. "You've already seen some of the other things I can do."

He lifted his arms slightly and rattled the chains around his wrists. "Yeah, I guess I have."

"Sorry about that," Sam replied with an exaggerated wince. "Right now I can't trust you as far as I can throw you—which is actually pretty far, come to think of it."

"And you think that's gonna change?" Dean asked.

"It might," Sam answered, his expression growing calculating. "Depending on how smart you are."

"Well, forget it." Dean lifted his chin, drawing on all the bravado he could muster. "Unless there's some way you can make me understand why you're doing this."

"For all the things I never got, ever since I was a kid. Respect. Control. The chance to call the shots. And man, can I call the shots now." Sam shook his head. "All those years of being tossed into the wall by spirits, all those years of wondering if it was salt or iron or silver that was going to do the trick...that's all so stupid now. All it takes is this." He held up a hand and looked over his shoulder at the dark-haired demon.

As Dean watched in astonishment, the demon's head snapped back and black smoke flew out of its mouth and towards the ceiling before he could blink. In an instant, the human host slumped to the floor, the odd angle of its head making it all too clear that without the demon inside, it was only a dead meat suit. There was no agonizing grimace on Sam's face, no blood trickling from his nostril—no sign that it was at all difficult for him.

Sam lowered his hand and looked back at Dean. "Pretty neat, huh?"

Dean swallowed hard, his gaze passing over the fresh corpse in the middle of the room to the demon who stood watching at the door, apparently not bothered at all that one of his comrades had just been sent speeding back to Hell. "I don't understand you," he said quietly. "Man, we've spent our whole lives fighting this, and now you turn around and give in to it?"

"Quit pretending that you have any idea what it's like, Dean," Sam snapped back. "You don't have a freaking clue. I had those crazy visions for two years while you looked at me like I was going to strangle you in your sleep. Then I got dragged halfway across the country against my will to find out some damn demon had been planning my whole life to make me into his pawn. Then I'm minding my own business when Gordon and that other nutjob hunt me down for being a freak. Then when I finally got a clue about how to use this—" he tapped his temple with two fingers—"I start to get persecuted for trying to help innocent people."

"Persecuted?" Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You call an angel telling you to stop using demonic powers being _persecuted_?"

Sam's voice lowered to a growl. "My own brother told me I was worthy of being hunted. Then he tried to take an axe to me. _That's_ being persecuted."

"Sam..." Dean grimaced. He'd regretted those words the moment they'd left his mouth, but he'd never thought they would have come back to bite him in the ass like this. And bringing up the siren was _so_ not fair. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"It doesn't matter now anyway." Sam shook his head and his expression softened. "I'm willing to put that behind us. I've got power now like you wouldn't _believe_, Dean. I can even give you some of it if you stand by my side."

"If I say no, are you gonna slice off my hand with your light saber?" Dean retorted, not bothering to hide his contempt.

"You think this is a joke, don't you?" Sam's face turned deadly serious. "There is a war coming to your doorstep very, very soon, and if you don't choose the right side, you're not going to make it. I could have killed you a dozen times today, Dean, but instead, I've spared your life. Now I'm giving you the chance to stick with your family and watch my back rather than follow the people that have kept you in the dark and fed you only the information they think you need to know. Doesn't seem that hard to me, not after all we've done for each other."

"Considering which side actually had the power to get me out of Hell, I think my choice should be pretty clear," Dean shot back. "Since you weren't able to do a damn thing for me."

From the way Sam's mouth tightened, Dean knew he'd scored a point, and something prickly inside him warmed with grim satisfaction. If the only blows he could strike right now were with words, he'd take what he could get.

The response was low and quick. "Well, I could do it now," Sam responded with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I could bring anyone back up here that I wanted to." He cocked his head to the side. "Except maybe Ruby. That might be a little tricky."

"Yeah, where is the bitch?" Dean hadn't seen Sam's demon buddy in a month or two, but if she was hanging around here anywhere, he'd gladly kill her himself.

Sam ducked his head slightly. "Don't go getting a big head about this, Dean, but you were right,. She wasn't helping me out for my benefit. It was all her own twisted little plan to finish what old Yellow Eyes started."

The automatic triumph that rose within Dean from being right about the skank all along was quickly tempered by concern over what exactly Sam meant. "Is that why you're..." He made a vague waving gesture with one shackled hand.

"Why I decided to be all that I can be?" Sam asked, lifting one eyebrow. "No, it's the other way around. Once I tapped into all of my abilities, it was a lot easier to see what was actually going on in her head." He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the room's other inhabitant and smirked. "In _every_ demon's head, actually."

Dean stared at him, stunned. Freakiness aside, how friggin' valuable would that have been for the past couple of years, to be able to read demons' minds? Not only uncovering Ruby's true intentions, but getting information from the crossroads demon about Dean's deal, knowing what Azazel's plans for his "special children" really had been...

"I know," Sam said with a trace of ruefulness on his face. "We've been missing out on a lot."

It took a second or two, but once it clicked into place, Dean was glaring at his brother for all he was worth. "So it's not only demons' minds you can read, huh?" he spat out.

Sam let out a chuckle. "Dude, you think that took psychic abilities? Your face is so easy to read that a two-year-old could do it."

"Then read this," Dean retorted, giving his brother the hardest, sharpest, most _fuck you_ glare that he could.

There was silence for a moment as Sam looked him over. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he finally said. Then he extended a hand, palm out, his face going completely blank.

Suddenly Dean couldn't move a muscle. Even if he could have gotten his jaw open, his throat wasn't making any sounds no matter how hard he tried. The one thing he could feel moving was his chest, rising and falling faster as he fought back the panic rising within him at being made so helpless.

Through frozen eyes, he watched as Sam bent closer. "Dean, I don't want to hurt you," his brother said quietly, the words sending a chill down his spine. "I will if I have to, but it's not what I want to do. I just want to keep you out of the way."

He stared back as hard as he could, not sure if the paralysis he was under extended to his facial expressions as well. He was pretty sure Sam got the message, though, from the way that his mouth tightened as he straightened up again and lowered his hand.

Dean clenched his fists as soon as he felt the paralysis disappear, hearing the chains above his head rattle. "You son of a bitch," he hissed, both challenge and frustration ringing clear through his voice.

Sam bowed his head for a moment. When he lifted it again, it was with a yellow-eyed gaze that felt like a punch to Dean's gut. "Just keep in mind that you had the chance to be on my side," he said. "Because I _will_ remember that." He kept his gaze on Dean a moment longer, and then turned towards the door. The demon who'd been standing guard bent to pick up the remains of his comrade, hefted the body over one shoulder, and followed Sam out.

The door closed behind them, and Dean was left alone.

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*sniff* Poor Dean...


	3. Down Deep

Hmm, I see lots of people reading out there, but not too many of them leaving reviews. Let's see if this chapter does the trick...

Disclaimer and beta thanks are in the first chapter.

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if hatred makes a play on me tomorrow  
and forgiveness take a back seat to revenge  
there's a hurt down deep that has not been corrected  
there's a voice in me that says you will not win

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"Rise and shine, big brother!"

The voice jolted Dean awake, out of a nightmare about Uriel and Alastair and the Colt. _When the hell did I start dreaming about Chuckles being tortured and not Sam?_ he wondered as he shook his head to clear it.

One look at his brother striding towards him wearing that same black shirt and pants, yellow flashing across his eyes before they returned to their familiar blue-green, and he had the answer to his question.

Sam was carrying something in his hand, and as he got closer, Dean saw that it was a folded-up newspaper. "After our little chat the other night, I decided you were right. It's important to keep up with current events." Sam tossed the newspaper onto his chest. It rotated as it flew so that the headline was legible if Dean craned his head upwards. "At least you won't have to worry about avoiding hunts in Florida anymore."

Dean shot a quick glance at Sam before straining up to read the headline. FREAK MEGA-HURRICANE DROWNS STATE, it said. His heart plummeted as he saw the accompanying image: a satellite shot showing the U.S. coastline ending at roughly Jacksonville, with the entire Florida peninsula now open water.

His eyes flicked back up to Sam, his heart racing. "What the hell did you do?" he breathed out, unable to hide how his voice shook.

"Oh, that one wasn't me," Sam replied easily. "Shame, though. I wouldn't have minded wiping Broward County off the map and taking that damn Trickster with it." His voice turned a shade darker. "No one makes a fool out of me like that."

Dean let out a breath. "So how many seals are left?" he asked tightly.

Sam looked him in the eye. "Three."

Dean pressed his lips together, wondering how Castiel and his fellow soldiers were doing out there in what had to be an increasingly-desperate world. "And you're not going to stop it."

"Far from it." Sam bent over and snatched up the newspaper. "I'm pissed that Lilith got there first. That's not going to happen again, believe me."

"Sam, you _do_ know what happens when the last seal breaks, don't you?" Dean asked sarcastically. Like they hadn't spent hours discussing it, like the last conversation they'd had before Sam vanished from their motel room hadn't been about that very thing.

The exasperated eye roll was all Sam, and Dean felt his heart clench. "No shit, Dean," Sam retorted. "Why do you think I'm doing this?"

"Why do I think you're trying to raise Lucifer?" he replied, his voice growing louder with every word. "I don't know, maybe because you've gone fucking crazy?"

Sam's mouth curled into a sarcastic smile. "No, but thanks for playing." He crumpled up the newspaper and let it sit on the palm of his hand. He gave it a glare, and the paper instantly vanished in a flare of ash.

Dean cleared his suddenly-tight throat. "You're full of those little tricks, aren't you?" And apparently he had no qualms about showing them.

"You have no idea," Sam replied. He folded his arms across his chest. "Come to think of it, Dean, there's a lot of things you don't know."

"Care to enlighten me?" Their dad had drilled into their heads that if they were in a tight spot and were physically trapped, getting information was the best strategy. It kept your mind occupied and your enemy potentially off-balance.

Of course, Sam knew that as well as he did, and the knowing twinkle in his eye said he was all too aware of what Dean was doing. But he answered, "You know what happens when that last seal goes. What you don't know is that whoever breaks it gets to control where and when that happens."

Dean looked at the two demons guarding the door to the room. One was the blond bouncer type he'd seen before, while the other was a short woman with weaselly features. "So it's you versus Lilith," he said slowly.

"Exactly." Sam saw where his gaze was going, and he smiled, jerking his head back to indicate the waiting demons. "I've got my army, she's got hers. And then it's winner take all. And I do mean all."

"Neither one of you is going to win, Sam." Dean had no idea how things had gone so wrong so fast, or what had motivated his brother to let his dark side take over him like this. But if there was anything at all that he could do to turn him back, anything that he could say, he wasn't going to stop until he had found it. "You know it. You might be keeping me prisoner here, but there are lots of others out there who aren't going to let you win. You can stop this before it's too late."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "Speaking of the others out there, where's Bobby?"

"Somewhere you can't get to him," Dean retorted.

"Really." Sam dropped down so that he was squatting next to the bed, looking Dean in the eye from a level height. "I already know he's not here backing you up, 'cause I'd have found him." The quiet confidence with which he spoke normally would have made Dean proud of his little brother's skills as a hunter.

At the moment, it was just pissing him off.

Sam leaned slightly forward, looking intently at him as he spoke in the same sure tone. "And if he was in town, he'd have been poking around by now trying to find you. So since he's not here, that means you didn't tell him where you were going." He shook his head. "Dean Winchester, always the protector."

Dean stayed silent, cursing to himself that Sam knew him well enough to be able to figure that out. No, he was sure that Bobby was the same place he'd been when he'd last talked to him: safe and secure inside his salvage yard, with the devil's trap painted on the kitchen ceiling and wards around every window and door, the chalk symbols underneath the doormat that could be avoided by—

He looked sharply at Sam. There was no reason for him to be thinking about Bobby's place in such detail unless something was making him do it. "Get out of my head, you son of a bitch," he growled.

Sam quirked up his eyebrows as a ghost of a smile passed across his face. "Can't blame me for trying," he said.

"You bastard—" Dean swept his right leg forward, but Sam shot to his feet and out of the way before his limited range of motion could bring him anywhere near the taller man. The chain around his ankle brought his movement to a sudden halt, the sharp edge of the manacle cutting into his skin and leaving him grimacing with pain.

Sam looked down at him for a moment, his eyes going dark. "Don't you ever try that again, or you'll be sorry," he said in a low voice.

"There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't already been done," Dean spat back. Never in a million years would he have expected to be drawing on his memories of Hell to sustain himself against his brother. Never.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me of a lack of imagination?" He shook his head. "C'mon, I want to show you something." The tone was casual, the same way he would talk about an interesting website or something he'd discovered in one of Bobby's books.

Dean held out his arms and rattled the chains. "Love to, but I'm a little tied up here."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot," Sam replied insincerely as he lifted one fist and spread his fingers wide.

Instantly, all four manacles popped open and fell back to the mattress. "Up and at 'em, Dean," Sam said, taking a few steps back from the bed.

Shooting a glare at him, Dean carefully sat up and rotated his legs to the side. He was expecting the head rush after being flat on his back for God only knew how long, and he wasn't disappointed. He gritted his teeth and fought to keep his gaze from swimming, and after a second, he felt strong enough to stand up.

"This way," Sam said, taking a few long strides towards the doorway. The two goons circled around behind Dean, and he had no choice but to move forward, stiff limbs protesting as he went.

He recognized the hallway as the same one he'd come down searching for Sam, what must have been thirty-six hours ago now, and it made him wonder what he could have done differently, how he could have taken more precautions in order to keep himself safe. More importantly, it made him wonder how he could still save his brother. 'Cause despite the evidence, he still couldn't believe Sam's soul was beyond reach. Or maybe this was some kind of extra-powerful demon that could withstand the usual tests; holy water hadn't fazed Azazel, after all. Bobby would know what do to. All Dean had to do was get free.

When they reached the T-junction, Sam took a left, and Dean and his two guards followed, his steps growing surer as the stiffness left his legs. Not that he was going to be able to try anything right now with them watching his every step, but he felt a lot better being up and around.

After they passed several doorways leading to rooms that looked like the one Dean had been confined to, Sam paused outside of one with a small window in the closed door. He stopped to look inside, and his lips briefly curled up in a shark's grin that was horribly out of place on those familiar features. Dean watched as he reached out a hand. The door swung open, and Sam tilted his head towards the open doorway while looking him in the eye. "Go on," he ordered.

Dean paused to look up at him, searching his face. It was a face he knew better than his own: every subtle flicker of the eyes, every slight twist of the lips, every tiny scrunch of the nose, was a page in a book he'd been reading as long as Sam had been alive. And now, it was like somebody had wiped the pages clean. There was such an utter lack of expression on Sam's face that it chilled Dean to the bone.

Swallowing hard, he turned away and took a step into the room. It was dark, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows and only a tiny amount of light seeping in around the edges. As Dean stepped forward, he heard a soft click behind him, followed by a bare bulb flickering to life overhead.

And then he stopped in his tracks at what he saw.

There was a figure standing against the far wall, slumped against the peeling white paint as if he lacked the strength to stand but couldn't sit down. His hands were held up at the height of his head, wrists limp and fingers drooping forward, but without visible bonds holding him in place. His head hung forward, eyes closed, looking utterly exhausted. His clothes were rumpled and familiar enough to drive a spike of fear into Dean's chest.

And as Dean watched, the figure lifted his head and opened his eyes, clear blue shining forth like a beacon in that dark, dingy room.

"Oh, God," Dean breathed out in horror, his stomach sinking down to the floor. "Castiel."

The angel's features were drawn, more haggard than Dean could have imagined them being. Recognition flared in his face as he saw Dean, and then he dropped his head forward again, shoulders slumping even further although his arms stayed up against the wall. "I had hoped," he rasped in a voice that sounded like he hadn't had water for days, "that I would not see you here, Dean."

"Oh ye of little faith," Sam said from the hallway. Then he snickered, and Dean stumbled forward from a shove as Sam entered the room and came to stand in front of the imprisoned angel. "Maybe now you'll believe me when I tell you there's no way out."

"There is always a way out." The voice might have been weak, but the light blazing forth from the angel's eyes was almost as bright as the bulb overhead. "Even for you, Sam Winchester. Even with what you have come to."

There was a pause, and Dean could see Castiel straining with effort. His left arm slowly came away from the wall, his hand beginning to reach out towards Sam. Dean held his breath, not sure if he should be cheering for Castiel or diving in front of his brother to protect him.

And then Sam let out a loud snort. "Give me a break," he said, flicking his right hand into the air as if swatting away a bug.

Castiel's arm went flying back against the wall, snapping in place as sharply as if a manacle had closed around it.

Dean whirled to face Sam, taking a step back to plant his right foot, raising his hands from his sides and curling them into fists before he realized what he was doing. Surprise flickered across the taller man's face for a moment, and then he mockingly took up the same position. "You already know that you can't fight me, Dean, with or without a weapon. And there's no Bobby here to save you this time."

Dean jerked his chin toward Castiel. "This why I haven't seen him since you went missing?"

Sam gave a light shrug. "I didn't want him getting in the way. He has this habit of trying to rescue you, and it could get really inconvenient if he showed up at the wrong time."

"The wrong time for what?" Dean asked warily.

"I thought you didn't like it when the villain monologued," Sam retorted.

Dean looked at him for a long moment, hearing the words but not quite believing them. Finally he asked quietly, lowering his arms to his sides, "What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?"

"I told you, nothing." Sam spread his arms out to his sides. "I feel great, for the first time in a long time. It's like when a headache goes away that's been bugging you for a while. Except in my case, I've had it for about three years. And now it's gone." He snapped his fingers.

"And this doesn't bother you." Dean gestured at Castiel. "It doesn't disturb you to be holding an _angel_ prisoner? For God's sake!"

Sam looked over at Castiel and back, but the angel lowered his head, refusing to meet his gaze. "Looks like I'm not the one who's bothered," Sam replied. "And anyway, it's done, Dean. There's no going back."

"What, you can't get unpossessed? Can't send whatever kind of super-powered demon is in you back down to Hell?" Dean let a grim smirk creep onto his face. "I'd love to help, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm sorry." Castiel's voice sounded rough with disuse. "I can feel each and every one of the demons in this building—where they are, what they are. There is no demon in your brother." He pressed his lips together, his look changing to one of reproach. "There are only the powers he was supposed to forsake."

"Oops," Sam said, raising his eyebrows. "My bad."

Dean stared. It was the same casual tone with which Sam had dismissed his time in Hell when the siren had pitted them against each other. Of all the cutting words they'd thrown at each other that night, that "boo-hoo" had been the one he'd called on later when he hauled the fire axe over his head. Anger surged to the surface as he yelled, "You think this is funny, you bastard?"

"It's a little funny," Sam replied with a quirked eyebrow.

Dean gave him a glare hot enough to melt steel. The younger man shrugged it off and turned to the angel. "Nice to see you, Cass," he said in a voice full of false cheer. "We've gotta get going, but I'll be back to say hi later." He motioned towards Dean, eyes turning cold. "Let's go."

The walk back down the hallway was silent. Dean knew he should be cataloging his surroundings, making note of any weaknesses in his captors in case an opportunity presented itself. But all he could see was Sam slamming Castiel back against the wall without so much as touching him, and the cold dread in his chest rose higher and higher until it threatened to choke him.

They reached Dean's room all too quickly, and he was escorted inside. He took one look at the shackles on the mattress and turned to face Sam. "Don't do this," he said quietly.

Sam's jaw was set in a hard line, and his gaze went past Dean to the chains. "You have a choice, Dean: you can do it yourself or have me do it for you. But either way, you're getting back on that bed and back in those chains."

Under normal circumstances, Dean would have fired back with something about not having realized how kinky his little brother was. But they were so far in the other direction from normal right now that he couldn't even _see_ it. It was one thing to keep him and the Colt out of the way. It was something else to keep a goddamn _angel_ prisoner. There was no way he could make light of anything after seeing that.

So instead he folded his arms over his chest, looked his brother in the eye, and said tightly, "You do what you have to do, Sam. But I'll be damned if I lift a finger to help you do it."

In a second, he was flying backwards, coming to rest with a thump on top of the bed. His four limbs spread wide of their own accord, and the metal shackles fastened around each one again, their edges neatly fitting into the cuts on his flesh. Dean clenched his jaw so tight that he thought his teeth were going to break.

"Get some sleep," Sam commanded, and Dean looked at him standing in the doorway, leaning on one forearm pressed to the doorway over his head. From this angle, his face was entirely in shadow, and all Dean had to go on was the mock concern in his voice. "You'll need it tomorrow."

"Sam!" he called out, but his brother had turned away. The two demons followed, and the steel door shut with a loud clang.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raise your hand if you'd been expecting Castiel to swoop in and save the day...


	4. Most Afraid

OK, let's get this show back on the road. Many thanks for all of the reviews for the previous chapter, especially the anonymous folks I can't thank individually. FYI, this story is complete and will have 9 chapters in all. This, however, is the point where I consider ducking into my flame-proof bunker.

Disclaimers and beta thanks are in Chapter 1.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

and if I ignore the voice inside  
raise a half-glass to my home.  
but it's there that I am most afraid  
and forgetting doesn't hold. it doesn't hold.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By Dean's reckoning, he'd been a prisoner for close to forty-eight hours now. Although the cold hamburger the blond demon had brought him earlier had been less than appetizing, he'd choked it down in order to keep up his strength. He'd been left alone several hours ago, biding his time and listening to the footsteps passing down the hall grow less and less frequent. He had no idea how many demons were in this building, but they probably numbered in the dozens, if not more. Their movements quieted down at night, which meant he should be able to make a move soon.

For what had to be the twentieth time, he bent his right hand forward and gingerly felt at the edge of his sleeve. The paperclip he'd surreptitiously fished out of his pocket during the visit to Castiel was still attached. This time, he closed the tips of his fingers around it and slowly started to pull. He held his breath as the paperclip came free of his sleeve, and he carefully transferred his hold on it to take it between his thumb and forefinger.

A few agonizing minutes later, he had the metal straightened out. Straining his arms over his head so that the cuffs cut into his wrists, he was able to slide the pick into the lock of the left shackle. It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually the lock opened with a quiet click, and he eased out of the shackle. The other three manacles came loose more quickly, and a few minutes later Dean was rising to his feet and looking around.

The moonlight coming in through the clouded window made it possible to see that his earlier assessments had been accurate: there wasn't much in here that could help him. A two-foot length of rusting pipe might make a good weapon, if it didn't crumble in his hands. Dean picked it up and made his way towards the door. Listening for a long moment, he didn't hear any sounds of a guard outside the room. Putting one hand to the doorknob, he was surprised when it turned easily.

Apparently Sam thought the shackles were enough to hold him.

He tucked the bent paperclip back in his pocket and silently made his way down the corridor step by step, pipe held firmly in one upraised arm. By the time he reached the end of the hallway, he hadn't heard or seen another living thing—except for the rat that skittered across the cement floor behind him, scaring a year off his life in the process.

Wishing to God that the pipe he was hefting over his head would magically transform into the Colt, Dean peered around the corner.

Thirty feet away, someone was walking towards him, and Dean swiftly moved back, praying that he hadn't been seen. He strained his ears to hear footsteps on the concrete, and eventually he did. They weren't slowing as they approached, and he took a silent step back, dropping into a batter's crouch with the pipe at the ready.

_Three, two, one—_

It was a home-run shot, no doubt about it. Dean's perfectly-timed swing sent the pipe crashing into the man's jaw, snapping his head back with a sickening crack and dumping him on his back. The demon was out for only a second, but by then Dean had kneeled down and pressed the pipe over his throat. The angry hiss that came out in response startled him for a moment, until he realized that the pipe was made out of iron. Bending over his victim, he recited the quickest exorcism he could think of, ironically grateful to Sam for insisting a few months ago that he take the time to memorize a few.

In less than a minute, black smoke was streaming towards the ceiling, and Dean had a long-dead body on his hands. Fortunately, the nearest room was open and empty, and he dragged the corpse inside and shut the door on it.

God, that had felt good. _One small step for man..._

Dean wiped the sweat off his brow and continued down the hallway, boots silent on the floor. He couldn't remember exactly how far down Castiel's room was (_like this is a goddamn hotel_, he muttered in his head), but as it turned out, there was only one room with a closed door. Unfortunately, this time the doorknob refused to move.

Cursing under his breath, Dean dug out the abused paperclip and teased open the lock, pausing every few seconds to cast glances over each shoulder. Right about the time he was expecting a horde of demons to come pelting down the hallway, the lock gave a soft click. Without hesitating, he turned the knob and slipped inside.

When he'd been in here before, he hadn't noticed any furniture, too caught up in the horror of Castiel being held against his will. Now, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light coming in from the hallway, he could make out a bed much like his own, with Castiel lying on his back and chained to the four corners of the bed frame. Had Sam too gotten tired to hold him up?

More importantly, what kind of shackles could hold an angel?

As Dean took a few steps into the room, Castiel's eyes instantly snapped open. Dean put a finger to his lips and hurried forward, one hand outstretched to clap over the angel's mouth if necessary. But Castiel took in the scene within a few seconds and stayed silent, leaving Dean free to bend over the manacle around his left wrist.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked in a low voice as he prodded the shackle with his improvised lockpick.

"I have not been harmed," the angel answered, watching Dean's actions curiously.

"Well, that's something," Dean muttered. He twisted the paperclip a fraction of an inch, and the lock sprang free. Pulling the metal cuff apart, he reached across the angel to get at his other wrist. "How long have you been here?"

"This is my seventh day here, but I have been with Sam for longer than that."

Dean bit his lip and worked the second lock free. This at least would explain why it had been Uriel and not Castiel who had dropped into the Impala unannounced. He wondered what mission it was that the brown-haired angel had disappeared from, and if Uriel had known what happened to his comrade. "What the hell happened, Cass?" he gruffly asked. "What happened to Sam?"

"He has not said much to me," came the unhelpful answer. Castiel started to rub one reddened wrist with his other hand as Dean moved down to the shackles on his ankles while shooting a quick glance at the door. "What has he told you?"

"A whole lot of nothing," Dean said. He jammed the paperclip a little too hard into the lock, and the thin metal bent. Swearing under his breath, he straightened it back out and tried again. "Some crap about wanting to be in control of things and how he has all this power at his hands now, like he's gone dark side or something." He tried for a confident tone. "I don't believe it for a second."

"You should."

The certainty of the angel's voice made Dean freeze in place. Without moving his head, he lifted his gaze to meet Castiel's bright blue eyes. "Do you know something I don't?" he asked warily.

Castiel's gaze dropped. "He is not the man you knew as your brother," he quietly replied.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, working the third lock free and reaching for the fourth.

The angel sat up abruptly, bringing his face to within a foot of Dean's. "He has been breaking the seals I charged you with protecting," he said in a low voice.

"He said he has a reason for it," Dean answered. "Maybe it's all part of a plan—which would be a pretty stupid plan—or maybe he's undercover, or maybe..." He trailed off. None of the excuses he'd put together in his head over the past two days sounded any more plausible out loud.

"Listen to yourself, Dean," Castiel said, eyes wide as he reached out to grab Dean's arm. "Look at what you are doing here in this room and then listen to what you are saying."

Dean froze in place, eyes on the paperclip he was using to pick a lock to unchain an angel whom Sam had imprisoned. He bowed his head, shoulders sagging, that spark of hope that he'd been nurturing for the past few days fading a little bit more. If even Castiel thought there was no hope for Sam, he who had ripped Dean out of Hell for the express purpose of keeping his brother safe, then maybe it _was_ all over.

After a moment, he started fiddling with the lock again. It only took a few more seconds for it to pop loose. "We gotta get you out of here," he mumbled, tucking the paperclip back into his pocket and standing up with his back to Castiel.

"I am not leaving until—"

"You are getting out of here, Castiel!" Dean whirled around, careful even in his anger to keep his voice low. "I am not going to be responsible for another angel dying on me!"

Too late, he realized what he'd said and that Uriel's loss had happened after Castiel had been imprisoned. But the blue eyes looking back at him showed no surprise, and then Dean remembered Anna's "angel radio". _God, what a way to find out_, he thought. Like hearing on TV that your best friend had been killed.

"He is not dead, Dean," Castiel was saying quietly.

"What?" Dean frowned. "Look, I hate to argue, but the dude stopped breathing right in front of me."

"His vessel was taxed beyond the limits of his power, yes. And it is likely that he will not fully recover until after the final battle is finished." Castiel's head tilted forward slightly. "But he is not dead."

"How do you know?" Dean asked sharply.

"I have heard so," came the reply. "Apparently I can still hear my brethren, if not speak to them."

If someone had told Dean a month ago how relieved he would be at hearing that Chuckles the Angel was alive and well, he'd have laughed his head off. As it was, even though this felt like the first piece of good news he'd heard in months, it still couldn't bring even the smallest smile to his face. "Good to hear," he said, offering a hand to Castiel to help him up. "Still gettin' you out of here."

"You need to find the Colt." Castiel accepted the assistance, his hand cool and soft in Dean's before he let go. "I can help you with that."

Dean frowned. "You know where it is?"

"I told you that I can tell where demons are in this building. There is likely to be a great concentration of them around the weapon."

"But isn't all your angel mojo gone?" Dean asked as he waved a hand at him and the chains lying loose on the bed.

"I can still fight demons," Castiel responded, his jaw set and eyes blazing, and Dean was sharply reminded of one of the first things this being had said to him, that angels were warriors.

It wasn't hard to believe that at the moment.

"Okay," Dean said, nodding slowly. "Then let's go get that gun."

He figured he probably didn't need to give Cass any tips on moving stealthily, and he was right. His own footsteps, mere whispers on the concrete floor, were still louder than his companion's. As they made their way into the hallway, Dean even looked back to make sure that the angel's feet were actually touching the ground.

For all their stealth, they had only made it a few hundred feet down the hallway when a voice rang out behind them, freezing them in their tracks. "I guess I was overly optimistic when I planned on keeping you out of the way. You're too good at being a pain in my ass."

The dark tone sent a cold chill down Dean's spine. He and Castiel turned as one to see Sam standing stiffly with his arms folded across his chest, regarding them both with simmering anger. "I should have known better," he went on, taking a step towards them. "You never do anything I tell you, do you, brother?" He swept his hands upwards, both palms pushing out to the sides.

Dean and Castiel instantly went flying backwards against opposite walls, staring at each other across the hallway. "Sam, why are you doing this?" Dean cried out, struggling against the invisible bonds that held him to the cold wall, despair finally breaking through.

"I had to have my curiosity satisfied," came the response. Sam came forward and looked him in the eye. "Not that I had much doubt that you'd betray me like this."

Dean's eyes bugged in disbelief. "I think you've got our roles reversed here," he spat out. "I'm not the one holding you prisoner."

"No, I suppose not," Sam replied. "Still, I trusted you to stay put." He reached behind his back, and the slight widening of Castiel's eyes was the only warning Dean had before Sam drew the Colt out from his waistband and brought it up under Dean's jaw. "I suppose you were looking for this?"

The metal was warm where it pressed into his skin, the long barrel moving slightly as Dean swallowed. "Thought you didn't want to hurt me," he choked out.

"I told you not to try anything." Sam's eyes shifted, flaring to golden yellow. "I've tolerated your screw-ups my entire life, Dean. It's time to put an end to that."

Dean couldn't help the shudder that swept over him or the way his breathing quickened, as if there was any way for him to either fight or fly. Stupid adrenaline. The one thing he could control was his mouth, and he wasn't gonna go down quietly. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he ground out. "Though you always were a crappy shot, even at close range."

Sam's eyebrows rose slightly as he tauntingly asked, "What's the matter, Dean? You scared?" He pushed the Colt up a little harder for emphasis. "Trying to talk me to death is a sure sign that you're freaking out inside."

Dean knew the hitch in his breath was betraying him, but he managed to retort, "No, I'm just excited you finally decided to play along with my gun kink."

The snort of laughter was achingly familiar. "Yeah, you're scared," Sam said with a knowing smirk. "Smart-ass."

A few more heartbeats passed, the two brothers staring into each other's eyes, the tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. Then Sam's quiet voice rang out in the still corridor. "No, you don't get off that easy." He leaned closer and breathed into Dean's ear, "We've got work to do."

Then he lowered the weapon and backed away.

Suddenly, Dean found he was no longer attached to the wall. But since it was all his legs could do to hold him up at the moment, he wasn't exactly able to take advantage of it. Unable to meet Castiel's eyes, certain they would remind him that it was his own failure that had brought them here, he kept his gaze on the ground and drew in a deep breath, getting his game face back on.

Apparently this wasn't over yet.

"Come on, let's go," Sam said, motioning with the gun towards the corridor they'd been heading down. "God, it's like I have to do everything myself around here."

With Sam prodding them from behind, they were marched down a series of corridors into a different part of the building. The hallways became wider, and although the walls were still peeling and there were still piles of random crap all over, it was clear that this had been a more public portion of the asylum. After a few minutes, they entered a lobby-like area, and Sam directed them towards a pair of metal doors set into one wall. The doors opened at his silent command, and they all passed through.

It was an auditorium, faded and weathered as the rest of the building, with a sagging ceiling dripping down onto moldy seat cushions and moth-eaten velvet drapes behind the stage. Dean counted at least twenty demons purposefully moving about the room. _No wonder there wasn't anyone in the hallways_, he thought. Some of them were chalking symbols onto the musty carpet and worn boards while others were laying out various objects in front of what looked like a makeshift altar. "Sam, what the hell is going on here?" Dean barked out.

He tried to dig in his heels, but a shove from behind sent him stumbling forward. Two demons were coming towards them, and within seconds they had grabbed him and Castiel. Turning his head, he saw Sam looking at each of the demons in turn, apparently giving them directions without saying a word.

A set of shackles was attached to the wall at the top of the steps at each side of the stage, and Dean noticed with alarm that he and Castiel were each being dragged towards one of them. "This'll keep you out of the way until you're needed," Sam said from behind him.

"Needed for what?" Dean threw over his shoulder. The grin he got in response was darker than anything he'd seen on his brother's face, even in his virus-induced hallucinations, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Once they'd mounted the steps and were on the stage, the patterns of herb sprigs and sigils and talismans laid out on the scuffed wooden floor were suddenly all too familiar, even if he'd never seen this particular arrangement anywhere but in some of Bobby's less savory spell books. Dean's gut twisted in apprehension. "Sam, this stuff is—"

"Dark and scary, yeah, I know." Sam nodded in approval as the demons closed the shackles tightly around Dean's wrists and ankles. "You can shut your eyes if you're afraid, Dean."

"Sam, please." The hair rising on the back of Dean's neck told him that this was his last chance, that if he didn't persuade his brother to turn back now, that it was going to be way too late. "You have no idea, Sammy," he said. "Whatever they've told you, whatever promises they've made—they're all lies. You don't know the first thing about what it's like down there or what it'll be like up here."

"Ah, but it's different when you're on top." Sam smirked as he lifted an eyebrow. "It's good to be king."

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So, uh, tell me, should I be running and hiding right now?


	5. Two Wrongs

Thanks for the encouraging reviews, everyone! They gave me the confidence to post this chapter with a grin (maybe an evil one?) on my face. It's dedicated to all the evil!Sam lovers out there. Hope you enjoy...

Disclaimer and beta thanks are in Chapter 1.

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now I don't believe and I never did  
that two wrongs make a right.  
if the world were filled with the likes of you  
then I'm puttin' up a fight. I'm putting up a fight.  
putting up a fight. make it right. make it right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After working nonstop for what had to be a couple of hours, Sam and the demons looked almost done with their preparations. Dean had been unable to tear his eyes away. It was like watching a train heading full steam for a collapsed bridge. The idea of summoning a demon wasn't unheard of; put a devil's trap down before you started, and you might get some useful information. But this was clearly beyond a simple summoning, and there was nothing resembling a devil's trap in sight. Combined with what Sam had said earlier, there was no question what was going on here.

He was planning on summoning Lucifer.

Sam was clearly directing the action, although he wasn't speaking a word. Every once in a while, a demon would look up at him as if they were listening and then get back to work. Dean periodically strained at his bonds, trying to get to that paperclip that he'd put back in his pocket like a moron. Like he could pick all the locks without anyone noticing, being up on stage as he was. Still, if there was anything he could do to stop this from happening, he was going to be all over it.

Then, as the final lines were being drawn, there was a loud noise from the hallway outside the back of the auditorium. Sam lifted a hand, and the lights in the room abruptly dimmed. Dean turned his head to see a dozen demons running up the aisle, the rear doors crashing open before them. There were brief sounds of a scuffle, then a flash of light so bright he had to turn away.

In the center of the stage, Sam had drawn himself up to his full height, hands clenched into fists at his sides, muscles tensed, ready to handle whatever came in that door. Dean felt pride well within him at the sight, followed swiftly by horror. With everything that he'd seen, how could he be proud of this man who stood before him, who'd let evil into his heart and was preparing to let absolute evil into the world?

_Because this is Sam_, he said to himself. _Because this is still your brother and you know that even if you had the Colt in your hand right now, it would take more than you have in you to pull the trigger_.

The unnaturally-bright light dimmed. There was a pause, and then a lone figure walked through the doors and into the room. It was a teenage girl, fuzzy pink sweater and tight jeans drawing the eye of everyone in the room as she sauntered down the aisle, hips swinging. She was followed by a seemingly endless line of demons with obsidian-black eyes who fanned out to line the back row of the room. By the time she reached the front of the auditorium and climbed the steps to the stage, Dean was not surprised to see that her eyes were not the soulless black of her followers.

They were milky white.

"Lilith," Sam said in a flat voice as she came to a stop before him. "This is new," he added, looking her up and down with a lecherous expression Dean swore he had never seen on his brother's face.

The teenager let out a giggle. "I wanted to try something different. There's all sorts of fun things I couldn't do before that I can now." She looked down at her body and ran her hands over her jean-clad hips. "Her parents named her Grace, you know." A dark smile curled the corners of her pink mouth. "Bet they never thought she'd grow up to claw their eyes out."

Only then did Dean noticed the dried red-brown stains lining her fingernails.

Lilith tossed back her long blond hair and looked back and forth between Sam in his black clothing and Dean in his chains. "I didn't know you boys were into this sort of thing." Her tongue ran around her lips. "Can I play, too?"

Sam let out a scoff. "Why are you here?" he asked sharply.

"Like you don't know," she retorted, white eyes rolling. "Silly boy. To kill you, of course."

Before Sam could react, she flung up one hand, a stream of white light shooting out from her palm in Sam's direction. From the rear of the auditorium, a dozen demons followed suit, lines of white arcing towards the stage and the tallest person standing on it.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, instinct taking over as he saw his brother being attacked.

The younger man staggered back a step, raising his hands in self-defense. But the beams of light kept growing brighter and brighter until they enveloped Sam completely as Dean watched with his heart in his throat.

Then a dark spot appeared in the center of the light, a black hole that slowly swallowed it up, growing larger and larger until Sam's form became visible again. His hands were held out at shoulder height, fingers spread wide, his face calm. Dean soon realized with a shock that the darkness was coming from Sam's hands, shooting out from his palms and absorbing Lilith's blast and those of her followers.

More than that, the darkness was soon surrounding her, pressing in on her like a living thing. She put up a second hand, and soon tendrils of white light and pure darkness were writhing around each other in the space between her and Sam. Dean shrank backwards against the wall, not wanting any part of the freaky light show coming near him. He watched as the two combatants made eye contact, and then as if by mutual agreement, both lowered their hands and the standoff ended.

Along the back of the room, Sam's demons started to move forward, but he held up a hand, and they stopped. He gave a satisfied smile. "What did you think was going to happen, Lilith? You couldn't kill me before. And there's no way in hell you can touch me now." He chuckled. "No way in hell. Get it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Looks like you can't hurt me, either."

"Oh, we'll see about that," Sam drawled. "Now really, what are you doing here?"

She swept a hand out to indicate the markings on the floor. "Been a busy little beaver here, haven't you?"

Sam looked at her for a moment and folded his arms across his chest, his brow lowering. "You're trying to cut in on my game."

She scoffed. "You've been breaking seals." Her voice slipped back into a childish register. "I was having _fun_ doing that."

"I was getting bored waiting for you," Sam retorted.

"No, that's not true," Lilith said, moving a step closer. "You were trying to _stop_ me from breaking them. That's not very nice."

"Was I?" Sam asked with an arched eyebrow. "You got Samhain through."

"You killed him," she pouted.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Still broke the seal."

Even pressed against the wall like he was, Dean felt a shiver run down his back. Had Sam been playing for the wrong side even then? Was that why they had been too slow to stop the demon's resurrection?

"Ask yourself this, Lilith." Sam paused. "Why do you want Lucifer free?"

The smile that lit her face was as cold as ice. "Because he doesn't deserve to be in the pit. He's never deserved it. All he did was stand up for himself." She gestured at Dean as she went on, "We're better than mere humans, Sam, and you know it. We're more powerful, more alive. All he did was believe in that and try to act accordingly. And for that he's been made a prisoner for millennia, been suffering in a way no one else has ever had to do. He deserves to be out and free, taking his rightful place in this world." Her eyes were blazing passionately as she finished.

"Lady, we're not talking 'Free Willy'," Dean burst out incredulously.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped. Then to Lilith he said, "So, you think you're gonna be his favorite or something?"

She drew herself up to her full height, which was almost a foot shorter than Sam. "He knows of my plans. He approves of them. When I have set him free, I will rule at his side. King and Queen, together for eternity."

Nausea roiled Dean's stomach, memories of what Lilith had done to him during his first years in Hell rising up like bubbles in a cauldron. As if picturing her on the loose wasn't bad enough, the thought of her holding power over the whole Earth was enough to make him sick.

Sam's flat voice broke into his thoughts. "You really are a stupid bitch, aren't you?"

Across the stage, the disapproving look on Castiel's face at Sam's choice of words was so utterly irrelevant that Dean almost laughed out loud. _Dude, if _that's _what you're objecting to here..._

"He's called the Prince of Lies for a reason," Sam continued. "There's no ruling at his side, no sharing of power. It's all or nothing. That's it."

Lilith's pretty face twisted into a scornful frown. "So what does that mean? You're going to challenge him?"

Sam didn't reply, and Dean felt that cold knot in his stomach twist even tighter.

"You are," Lilith breathed out. Her eyes flickered to Castiel and back. "Unless this is all a trick."

Sam let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "Not likely, sweetheart," and he sounded so much like Dean that the older man stared. "They don't want me." He gestured sharply at Castiel, who slammed his eyes shut and grimaced as if in pain. Sam paused for a moment and lowered his hand, and Castiel slumped back against the wall, breathing hard.

Then Sam turned back to Lilith and added, "If I'm already condemned because of this demon blood I've got, I figured might as well give it a shot on this side. And I never did like doing anything half-assed."

"Sam, how can you—" Dean started to speak, but as Sam's hand shot out towards him, he was horrified to find no sound coming out of his mouth. He glared daggers at his brother, but the younger man was focused on the girl standing in front of him.

Sam was opening his mouth when he froze in place, eyes going distant. An instant later, Lilith took up the same position, both of them looking like they were picking up some kind of broadcast that only they could hear.

Then a cry split the air. "No!" Castiel shouted out, anguish twisting his voice and making Dean's blood run cold. Around the auditorium, demons were murmuring to each other, the ones in Sam's camp casting wary glances at Lilith's crew along the back wall.

"What is it?" Dean called out, glad to have his voice returned but afraid that he already knew what was going on.

"Sam, you have one more chance," Castiel said, desperation coloring his words. "Only one chance remains for you to turn aside from what you have been doing and repent."

"One more, huh?" Sam didn't look away from Lilith as he spoke. "You little whore, you came here to distract me while your minions were out taking care of business."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "Oops."

"Oops, huh?" Sam's nostrils flared and he took a few slow steps to his right, a familiar expression on his face that indicated the wheels inside were turning. "You've had this all planned out, haven't you?"

She eyed him closely, turning to face him as he moved. "You know I have."

"Mm-hmm." Continuing to pace, Sam was now directly opposite Dean, who could clearly see the coiled intensity lying just under the surface of his brother's skin as he moved. Something was going to happen, and Dean was suddenly very afraid of what it might be.

Especially now that there was only one seal left.

Sam was speaking again as he continued to move. "So you've known what all the possibilities are." He waved with one long-fingered hand. "All the seals there are to choose from."

Dean could see the wariness in Lilith's expression. She clearly had no idea where Sam was going with this, but she spoke confidently. "I know it's why you're keeping an angel chained up," she retorted.

Dean's fists clenched, and he looked over to see a resigned expression on Castiel's face. Had he known that was why he'd been brought here? As a final sacrifice to bring about the end of the world? Dean set his jaw. He would be damned if he let either one of these bastards touch Castiel.

But Sam was still speaking slowly, almost hypnotically. "So you don't know. You don't know that one of the seals involves removing something from the Earth that has been around for as long as humans have. Something that has provided temptation and misery and death over the entire human lifespan. You don't know that it is part of the balance between Heaven and Earth and Hell, and that destroying it means rending that balance and bringing about the end of days."

There was silence in the room except for Sam's footfalls and the boards creaking under his feet as he kept walking around Lilith. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and demanded, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Language, little girl!" Sam admonished. He'd paced a complete circle around her, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room as he did so, and when he came to a stop, the lack of motion was almost dizzying. A knowing smirk tilted up the corners of his lips. "I'm talking about you."

Shock flashed across her young features for an instant before she tossed her head back with a laugh. "You've got to be kidding. You send me to Hell, and I'll be back here in less than an hour. The barrier is so weak right now it's almost paper, and—"

"I'm not talking about an exorcism." His tone stayed calm and soothing, but Dean detected an undercurrent now that hadn't been there before. Then Sam reached behind him and pulled out the Colt, aiming it squarely at Lilith, and the underlying note of triumph rose and solidified in his voice. "I'm talking about your end."

Dean stared at the gun. Sam had crossed right in front of him while he'd been walking in a circle, his back within a few yards, and Dean would swear on the Impala that the weapon had not been in sight. How had he been hiding it?

Lilith was taking a step back, hands in the air, and if Dean hadn't been scared to death of his brother, he would have been ecstatic to see her looking afraid. "Sam, don't be ridiculous. We can talk about this."

He let out a laugh that pealed through the room. "We've been talking, sweetheart. Besides, I didn't think you were one for words when actions would suffice." He pulled back the hammer, the click resounding in the sudden stillness.

"I'm warning you—" she started.

"Too late," he replied, his eyes alight with an unholy glee. "Say goodnight, Gracie."

And Sam fired the weapon.

Lilith fell backwards to the wooden floor, shockwaves of electric flame spreading outwards from the center of her chest. Her arms and legs were outflung, head arching backward, a scream escaping her lips, followed by a billowing cloud of white smoke that shot towards the ceiling as if out of a cannon. It seemed to take forever, longer than with the yellow-eyed demon, but then she was more powerful than that old bastard had been. Then a blinding white flash filled the room, and Dean had to slam his eyes shut.

When the light faded and he opened them again, there was a teenage girl's corpse on the floor, and Sam was slowly lowering the gun to his side. His expression was grimly triumphant, his eyes flickering to Dean and back as he stowed the gun away again.

Before Dean could try to make any kind of reply, a slight tremor shook the room, and Sam swayed a little on his feet. Dean's chains rattled slightly, and he felt the wall against his back shake.

The demons who had entered with Lilith were looking around nervously. Some of Sam's minions were advancing towards them in the back of the auditorium, although most were hanging back and watching him for direction.

The floor shook again, and Sam raised his arms up from his sides. He made a commanding figure, taller than anyone in the room, his dark clothing standing out in the spotlights that were suddenly shining down on the stage. "Hear me!" he called out, and the room went quiet. His eyes darkened to black as his gaze swept across the auditorium. "The seals are broken and the day is at hand. There is no time for infighting. There are to be no calls for revenge. We must work together, all of us as one, to bring forth our Lord."

"Oh, God," Dean muttered, hands clenching into fists at hearing those words out of his brother's mouth, feeling like he was going to be sick. He looked at the Colt, for the first time in his life wishing that he had even a fraction of Sam's powers so he could grab the damn thing out of thin air.

Because now he _knew_ he could use it.

"He's not here, Dean." Sam turned towards him, a malicious smile on his face. The demons standing closed to him started to chuckle. "There's another ruler coming very soon, though. Thing is, he's going to need a body to share." He very slowly and deliberately looked around the room. "But I'm kinda busy, and it looks like there's only one other person here who isn't already co-habitating."

And then his eyes fixed on Dean.

Dean shrank back as much as he could. "Oh, hell no," he said in a low voice, unable to keep from shaking as he spoke. "Nobody's getting in here with me." _Least of all fucking Lucifer!_

"Think about it, Dean." Sam's eyes were intent on his. "You and me. Side by side. Hell, you'd even be the one in charge, technically speaking." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I'd just keep on being the little brother."

"Are you nuts? Scratch that, of course you're nuts." Dean shook his head. "It's like you told Lilith: this isn't a dude who likes to share."

"There are ways to get around that," came the reply. Sam looked at him for a moment longer, then motioned towards the blond demon who'd shackled Dean to the wall earlier to come forward.

Dean looked frantically at Castiel across the long stage. The angel's face was as grim as he had ever seen it, lips pressed together and desperation in his eyes. When he finally met Dean's eyes, his gaze sharpened. "Fight it, Dean," he called out in a commanding voice. "You have to fight it with everything you have."

Dean's gaze swung wildly back to Sam, who was busy murmuring instructions to the blond-haired demon. Then he looked at the Colt, tucked away into the back of Sam's waistband. It was only ten feet away, but it might as well have been in China for all that he could get to it.

He didn't have any freaking superpowers, and somehow he doubted the ink on his chest was going to do much good against the biggest bad of them all. How the hell was he supposed to fight off possession by goddamn Lucifer?

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Dun, dun dun dun DUN...


	6. The Only Hope

Thanks again for all of the great reviews; I appreciate them all. Once again, the disclaimers and beta thanks are in the first chapter.

Oh, and please make sure your seatbelts are fastened. *eg*

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now love can not be called in to question.  
forgiveness is the only hope I hold.  
and love – love will be my strongest weapon.  
I do believe that I am not alone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few minutes later, the last of the preparations were complete. Dean saw with alarm that the position of some of the candles on the stage floor had been moved a little so that there was a kind of pathway leading towards him. He looked up to see Sam striding towards him before stopping a few feet away, giving him a measured gaze. "Don't fight it, Dean," he said. "It'll be much easier if you give in."

"Like hell!" he shouted back, tugging at the chains as if they'd magically break. "You think I'm letting anyone in here with me, you're freakin' crazy." Obviously Sam _was_ freakin' crazy, not only planning to summon _the _most badass demon, but to put him inside Dean's body. If he had any doubt that his loyal, sensitive brother had vanished, it was gone now that he was apparently expected to share his hell-tarnished soul with the devil himself.

He'd rather die first.

"I told you already, you don't have a choice," Sam replied. "Let it happen, Dean, and everything will go much more smoothly. Try to fight..."

And then Sam pulled out the Colt and pointed it at him.

Dean's heart leapt into his throat. He hadn't expected to get death as an option. "What the hell, Sam?" he choked out. They'd been in this place before, in this _very same place_, him staring up the barrel of his own gun at a brother who wasn't quite himself. He swallowed and stared at the taller man, the words coming like an echo of the past. "You think you can kill your own brother?"

"Just a precaution," Sam answered, taking another step forward. "In case someone is uncooperative."

"Damn straight I'm gonna be uncooperative," he shot back. He glared for a moment longer before closing his eyes and picturing a wall. A solid brick wall, stretching as far above and to the sides of him as he could see. He put that mental wall between himself and Sam, and he tried to clear his mind of everything else.

_Brick. Solid, red brick. All the mortar is tight. All of the bricks are solid. No chinks. Good, solid brick._

The laugh that came out of Sam's mouth was harsh. "Dumbass," he said. "You think that's going to do anything?"

The brick wall in his mind suddenly dissolved as a wave of water washed over it. Dean opened his eyes with a gasp, looking at his brother to see black eyes staring back at him. "Time's up," Sam said.

Then he opened his mouth and started chanting in a language Dean had never heard, not in decades of chasing down obscure rituals and hearing long-unused syllables pour forth from Sam's lips. The harsh consonants and short vowels sounded like they were catching in the other man's throat.

Dean supposed it was too much to hope that he choked.

After a moment, the chant was taken up by the demons on the stage, and they began to light candles in a pattern, starting with the ones nearest to Sam and then moving outwards. The overhead lights in the auditorium dimmed, and soon only the flickering of candlelight lit the room as the chanting went on.

Dean wanted to put his hands over his ears to block out the awful sounds. Across the stage, Castiel looked like he was in pain, wincing with almost every word that was spoken. He was staring at Sam, his lips moving, and although Dean had no idea what the angel was saying, he recognized prayer when he saw it.

Then his attention was caught by something else, and his skin started to crawl. A cloud of dark smoke was forming between him and Sam, writhing and pulsing in the candles' glow. The curtain at the back of the stage began to undulate as a breeze swept by, growing into a stronger wind that swept around the room, sending the candles flickering. The cloud thickened and darkened, forming roughly into a human shape.

Knowing it was useless, Dean desperately pulled at the metal cuffs again, his wrists slick with his own blood but his hands still too wide to fit through. Sam's voice rose higher, his right hand still holding the Colt steady while his left stretched out over his head. The last of the candles was lit, and the chanting ended on a harsh, drawn-out note. Sam closed his hand into a fist, and the room went still.

Dean stared at the dark, roiling cloud, trying to call up that image of a brick wall again, wondering if the tattoo on his chest would even slow it down. It lifted slightly upwards as though it were taking a breath, paused for a moment...

And then it shot backwards into a wide-eyed Sam.

"No!" Dean cried out, watching as his brother toppled backwards, hands reaching up to his face, the Colt clattering to the floor. The last of the dark smoke passed through his outstretched fingers, and Sam flung his head back, grimacing and straining against the thing that had just forced its way inside of him.

Dean watched in horror as Sam fought the possession, bucking and shaking on the ground, cries and growls escaping his throat. The younger man rose on his hands and knees, his entire body shuddering, then slowly staggered to his feet. His eyes were closed tight, but his head whipped back and forth, a visible sign of the internal struggle taking place.

It was obvious the minute that Sam started to falter, because the shackles around Dean's wrists and ankles clicked open. He cast a quick look around, but none of the demons seemed to notice, their attention all focused on Sam. Dean spared a glance for Castiel, who was likewise quietly stepping out of his bonds, before looking back at the man in black at center stage.

Sam suddenly threw his head back, arms upraised, and let out a bone-chilling cry unlike anything Dean had ever heard. It was the sound of terror and pain that reminded him all too well of his time in the pit, and he gladly would have died again before hearing it from his brother's lips. The blood-curdling scream was shot through with desperation and defeat, and from Castiel's horrified expression, it was clear that he had heard it, too.

Just as Dean was about to scream out loud himself at the agony of what he was hearing, the sound abruptly choked off, leaving a silence that was almost worse. Sam staggered back and lowered his head, his arms slowly coming down to his sides as his eyes closed. The wind whipping through the auditorium died down, and the lights stuttered back on, one by one.

Dean waited, his heart pounding. He was dimly aware that every eye in the room, whether demon or angel or human, was fixed on the man who had brought them all here: his brother, who had been unable to resist the temptation of the demonic power he had called forth. And now, after weeks of breaking seals, he had gambled it all on his ability to hold back the greatest of the darkness, the very name of evil.

Suddenly, there was a faint rumble of thunder overhead, and the lights flickered again before burning brighter than they had the entire night.

Then the black-clad figure standing in front of them raised his head and surveyed the room.

Dean would have laughed at how quickly all of the demons fell to one knee with their heads bowed—except that he was suddenly terrified out of his mind. Nothing Dean had ever seen could have prepared him for this. It was Sam's face, it was Sam's body, but the being in front of him was nothing remotely like his brother. He could almost feel waves of evil rolling off him, and his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

Then in their slow scan across the room, Lucifer's eyes met his.

And only Dean's iron force of will kept him from dropping to his knees and hurling his guts out right there.

The eyes looking back at him were red and yellow like leaping flames around a pupil that seemed darker than black. Dean felt for a second as if the demon was looking not only into his soul but _through_ it, turning him inside-out and discarding him like a piece of trash.

Then a terrible smile started to curve Sam's—no, _Lucifer's_—face. "Dean Winchester," he said in a voice that was a twisted, distorted echo of his brother's.

And suddenly Dean was back in Hell, feeling the cuts of the knives and the agony of the rack and the desperate fear and panic that had claimed him for thirty long years. All thoughts of Sam now in the hands of the darkest of evils, of Castiel across the room from him, of the Colt lying on the ground nearby, fell away as mindless terror overwhelmed him. He dimly heard a chuckle that sounded like bones being broken, but it was fast fading into the tide of memories that was sweeping over him like gallons of his own blood.

Then he did drop to his knees, clutching at his head, plunged back into the depths of what he had suffered for forty years in a way that no mere nightmare could do.

He didn't know how much time passed before he lifted his head with a gasp, surfacing out of the darkest depths of his memory. What he saw made a chill run down his spine. Lucifer was towering over Castiel, whose face radiated both power and fear as he stared back at the demon. They were speaking in low voices to each other, and from the snatches that Dean could hear, it sounded like the language from the ritual. At one point, Castiel's eyes flickered to Dean, pain clearly visible in their bright depths. When he saw that Dean was looking back, he straightened almost imperceptibly where he stood.

The being formerly known as Sam turned at that. He looked Dean up and down, and then slowly, deliberately, licked his lips.

Dean shuddered. "_Exorcizo te,_" he called out through a desert-dry throat. "_Omnis spiritus immunde—_"

"You think you can exorcise me?" The voice was painful to hear, even more so when it took on a taunting tone. "You, of all people?" He started slowly walking across the stage towards Dean, the demons nearest him lowering their heads nearly to the floor as he passed.

Reaching to the wall behind him for support, Dean staggered to his feet, feeling like he'd run about ten miles in the last half hour. "_In nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis_—" he tried to go on.

One large hand came up towards him, and the words stopped coming out of his mouth. "Don't bother," came Sam's voice in a lower register. "Your feeble incantations are of no use here." He gestured down at his body with the other hand as he continued to advance. "Not only was I summoned by this one, but his blood called me to him. He had already been prepared for me, which means we are bonded together as one soul. There is nothing you can do to separate us."

Over Lucifer's shoulder, Dean could see Castiel's face blanch. He lifted his chin and spat back, "Sam's gonna kick your ass."

The chuckle that followed brought with it the memory of the sound of sizzling flesh. "That assumes that he wants to." Lucifer came closer, using Sam's height to loom over him, using those fire-red eyes of his to pin him in place as surely as the shackles had earlier. Dean stood with his back pressed to the wall, calling on every ounce of stubbornness he possessed to stay on his feet. He tried to put on the sneering, derisive face that he'd confronted Azazel with, but at this point it was pretty much all he could do not to run screaming in terror.

"I'm sorry I never got to meet you in person in my home," Lucifer said. He reached out and trailed his fingers down Dean's cheek. Dean slammed his eyes shut, revulsion washing over him at the demon's touch. "I understand you posed quite the challenge for one of my favorites."

_Gee, I'm shocked,_ Dean thought at the news that Alastair had been a favorite of the king of the demons. "Good," he spat out through his clenched teeth.

The fingers paused briefly before traveling further down his face. Then without warning, the large hand wrapped around Dean's neck, strong fingers pressing into the sides. "Ah, but once you got into it, you really got going, didn't you? If I hadn't had business elsewhere, I would have loved to supervise your training personally." Dean could feel the demon's hot breath on his face as he leaned closer.

"Go to hell," Dean shot back, anger giving him the courage to open his eyes. He might be literally shaking with fear, but he would be damned if he was going to hide from this thing.

"Oh, that's original." The tone was almost like Sam's scoff, except for the low rumble underneath it that made Dean think of the earthquake ripping apart the ground under Palo Alto. "Still resisting, or should I say, resisting again? You know that it's useless, Dean. You _know_ that it's useless."

He did know—probably better than anyone else alive—that no matter who you were, sooner or later, Hell would break you. And now with Lucifer risen, unless there was some divine intervention pretty damn soon, Hell was going to be right here on Earth. The demon was so close to his that he couldn't see Castiel against the far wall, but he couldn't help looking desperately in that direction.

A mirthless smile crossed Lucifer's face. "The angel can't help you," he rumbled. "Not anymore. But I'll tell you what." He took his hand away from Dean's throat and laid over his shoulder, palm lining up with the puffy scar and long fingers extending beyond it. Dean's skin suddenly felt like it was on fire, bubbling and boiling away under Sam's hand. "I think you just need a refresher. I think once you get a knife in your hand and him on the rack, it'll all come back to you."

Dean's head would have snapped back if it wasn't already being held against the wall. "No," he breathed out. "I'm not touching him or anyone else."

The grip on his shoulder grew painfully tight, the burning sensation now matched by the slow pull of his arm from its socket. "You do understand what I'm offering?" Lucifer asked. "A position at the side of what's left of your brother. Freedom from eternal pain. The power to control what you do and what happens to the others you care for." He paused, and the flames in his eyes leapt higher. "Or you will be kept alive as an example for anyone who dares to resist me. Thirty years is as nothing compared to what I will do to you."

A year ago, Dean might have weighed the offer. He might have considered the option of sticking close to Sam, hoping to get him back someday. A year ago, he might have taken Lucifer's word for what it seemed to be worth and struck a deal. But he'd lived an extra lifetime since then, had done things he knew were beyond forgiveness, and he had vowed that he would never become that person again.

So Dean Winchester straightened his shoulders, took what he figured was his last pain-free breath, and said clearly to the Devil, "Fuck you."

There was dead silence in the room. Then Lucifer took a few steps back and raised both hands in front of him, face twisted into a knowing smirk. "Sam's in here with me, you know. And he's not going to like watching you burn," he said in a low voice. "But there's nothing he can do to stop it."

Dean fought the impulse to close his eyes, watching as red-and-yellow light flickered around Lucifer's outstretched fingers. When the light formed into a ball that shot towards him, he looked back unflinchingly, hoping that Sam could see the forgiveness and love behind his terrified eyes.

Suddenly a bolt of cool blue light shot out, diverting the ball of fire into the wall off to Dean's right. He jerked to the other side, staring with wide eyes at Castiel, who had one fist raised and was preparing to strike another blow. Lucifer spun on his heel and lifted both hands towards the angel, a larger fireball forming between his fingers. It hung there for a moment, long enough for Dean to scan the stage and find the Colt lying on the ground a few feet away.

Lucifer suddenly let out a screech, and the sound was like talons piercing Dean's ears. His back to Dean, he raised one hand to the side of his head, curled fingers shaking, as the fire dissipated into the air. Dean took a tentative step sideways, then another when it appeared that no one had noticed, and soon he was standing right over the gun.

Now he could see the demon's profile, and it looked ironically enough like Sam having a vision: eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into his temples, head bent forward and pain etched across his face. He gave another cry, but this time it sounded like Sam, with the same anguish and fear he'd had as Lucifer took over. Dean froze, watching helplessly as the man and the demon again wrestled for control of Sam's body.

Another bolt of blue light flew across his vision, splashing to the ground at Sam's feet. Taking advantage of the diversion, Dean bent down and scooped up the Colt, holding it behind him as he thumbed off the safety.

Lucifer instantly wheeled towards him, arm extended, a baseball-sized fireball flying past Dean's head to hit the curtains behind him. As Dean dodged, he saw the demon lower his head again, hands coming up to his throat, a guttural cry coming forth with the fury of a thousand hungry werewolves. The smell of smoke started to fill the air as the moldy velvet curtains caught fire, and heat was soon lapping at his back, forcing Dean to move away.

Then for one second, Sam's head lifted and his sea-green eyes shone forth, clear and bright. "Now, Dean!" he shouted, his expression simultaneously demanding and terrified, his power clearly stretched to its limit. "Do it!"

Without hesitating, Dean did the one thing he never thought he would have been able to do. He'd made a deathbed promise to his father, he'd vowed to his anguished brother that he would do the right thing, he'd talked it over with himself and an angel so many times that it rubbed raw against him. But in all those conversations, he'd never deep down thought that he actually could do it.

He smoothly raised the Colt so it was aiming right at his little brother's heart.

And then he pulled the trigger.

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	7. Tears

Thanks for all of your reviews, and I'm sorry if I gave anyone the impression that this was complete. There's two more chapters after this one. Special thanks to the anonymous reviewers I can't PM. (To casammy: pienso que usted está absolutamente correcto en todo. Otra vez.) Disclaimers are in the first chapter; I want to thank ster1 and kasman again for being such awesome beta readers, especially on this chapter.

Now then, this is the chapter that I've been dying to post from the moment I started writing the story, if that makes any sense. I'll be hiding out in my bunker waiting for your reaction...

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for this fear will not destroy me.  
and the tears that have been shed  
it's knowing now where I am weakest  
and the voice in my head. in my head.

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Just as it had in front of the Devil's Gate, time seemed to pass in slow motion for Dean after firing the gun. Lucifer's eyes gleamed like flames as he began to dodge to the side, and Dean started to squeeze the trigger again, terrified that the gun would go flying from his hand at any moment.

But suddenly Sam's blue-green irises lit up. He wrenched himself upright—directly into the path of the shot. In the fraction of a second before it hit, his gaze met Dean's, and the apology and forgiveness and relief there just about broke Dean wide open.

Then the bullet pierced Sam's chest.

His arms flew outwards, fists clenching. He stuttered back a few steps, yellow and white fire flickering around his form. There was an electric crackle in the air, a sizzling sound from overhead, and then the light bulbs in the auditorium started to pop, one by one, small fires starting here and there as sparks dripped down onto the worn seats and carpet.

Dean took a step forward, gun still leveled at the taller man's chest. The yellow fire flared brighter, and Sam sat down hard. Then a convulsion swept over him, knocking him flat.

Dimly, Dean heard shouting from all corners of the room as the panicking demons tried to figure out what to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blue fire issuing forth from where Castiel had been, as bright as the flames that were eating their way up the curtains behind the stage. But his attention remained focused on Sam, who was twitching as bolts of white and yellow raced up and down his prone body.

Dean set his jaw as he came forward, the hunter in him keeping the gun trained on the threat while the brother in him wanted to turn the weapon on himself after what he'd done. He carefully went to his knees at Sam's side, heart in his throat, watching helplessly as bright red blood spread across the worn boards of the stage.

Sam's eyes opened, clouded over with pain. "'M sorry, Dean," he murmured, his hand weakly reaching out to grasp the front of Dean's shirt. "Sorry...hurt you. Couldn't tell you..."

"Shh, it's okay, Sammy." Dean kept the gun in his right hand but reached out to wrap his other hand around Sam's, the pain and terror of the last few days falling away at the sight of his brother in need. "Hang in there," he said, infusing his voice with that _we're screwed and we both know it but let's pretend we're not_ tone that they'd both learned from their father and had way too much practice at putting into use. "You're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Dean." The single word was spoken with surprising strength. Sam licked his lips, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth. "You have to...let me die or...he'll get out."

Before Dean could protest, a film of black slid over Sam's eyes and his head lifted off the ground as orange fire flared around him. Dean involuntarily jerked back, heart pounding, fingers tightening on the Colt. A second later, Sam breathed out, "See?"

His eyes were normal again, but Dean understood what was lurking under the surface. "Yeah," he said roughly, and it was the hardest thing he had ever had to say. Biting his lip, he sat back on his heels watching Sam's lifeblood drain out of him, and the tears started to form in his eyes.

"Thank God," Sam breathed out, his eyes closing. His hand feebly squeezed Dean's, who dropped the gun and wrapped both of his hands around his brother's long, cold fingers. Sam took in a slow breath and said softly, "Love you...Dean."

And then he went completely still.

Dean's forefinger was resting on the inside of Sam's wrist, and he felt the weak pulse stutter and then fail. He waited for a few heartbeats of his own before closing his eyes and bowing his head, the tears streaming silently down his cheeks, pressing Sam's lifeless hand to his face.

He felt like the hellhounds had found him again, this time tearing apart his insides instead of his flesh. There were only scraps of him left now, small pieces like the hands clinging to his brother's and the cold knowledge of where the Colt was and that one more bullet was all he was going to need.

A loud shriek made his eyes snap open. Looking around, he saw a demon standing five feet away, hand extended in his direction. "No!" he shouted furiously, but a second later he was flying backwards across the floor, Sam's hand ripped from his grasp, his head slamming up against the wall where he'd been chained a few minutes earlier. The demon started coming closer, features twisted in rage. She raised both hands, but before Dean could even flinch, the floor gave a huge lurch and she toppled to the ground.

The rear doors of the auditorium were flying open, bolts of blue light shooting through them and striking the demons clustered around the back.

_I'll be damned,_ Dean thought. _It's the cavalry. About fucking time._

Something in his gut twisted. No, the time for them to arrive would have been about three minutes ago. Before he'd taken a gun and shot his brother dead.

The main room was pandemonium. Demons were running back and forth, some fighting each other, some trying to run, some falling to the floor like puppets with their strings cut. A dozen figures had entered the room, and Dean had to look away as the light radiating from them grew painfully bright.

Suddenly there was tremendous pressure across his windpipe, and he frantically looked back at the demon to see her holding out an open palm in his direction. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see the light and heat from the flaming curtains drawing nearer, and he started to think about giving in. Maybe this was better anyway: no worries about him or Sam becoming restless spirits if they went out in a blaze of glory. Maybe this was for the best.

Then the pressure eased so abruptly that he toppled over.

Dean almost reluctantly scrambled to his feet to see Castiel standing in front of the demon, his hand open over her face and white-hot fire lighting her from within as she struggled in his grip. A second later, the woman's head snapped back and black smoke poured out. But rather than shooting off towards the ceiling, the cloud of smoke roiled in the air, circling around its host's head. If it were possible to say that a cloud could look confused, this one did. A moment later, it started to fade from view, breaking into smaller and smaller pieces that quietly winked out of existence, a few bits falling to the ground like ash.

Castiel's eyes were blazing in triumph. The angel looked around for a moment and then pointed a finger at a demon on the ground in front of the stage. The same thing happened: black smoke erupted forth and paused as if it had nowhere to go. Then it peacefully dissipated into nothing.

Dean supposed he should be curious as to what was going on with the demons, but all he could concentrate on was the long-limbed, bloodstained body lying at center stage. He took a step forward and then another, eyes locked on Sam's pale face.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he looked up sharply to see Castiel regarding him with more respect than he'd ever seen on the angel's face. "You have done a great thing, Dean," he said.

He jerked back from Castiel's touch. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped, feeling the broken edges of himself rubbing together in his chest.

"Don't you know what you have done here this day?" the angel asked, gesturing to the rest of the room.

"Yeah," Dean replied flatly. "I killed my brother." Nausea twisted his gut as his words fell on the air.

Castiel's face immediately fell as his gaze dropped to the body on the floor.

Taking a step forward, Dean jabbed a finger in the angel's chest. "But I bet you're real proud of me, huh?" he asked bitterly. "Maybe I couldn't save Sam, but I kept my promise. Not that it matters to you if he's dead or not; you got what you wanted out of it." His voice raised as he went on, "S'pose it's time to send me back, then, since I've finished that work you had for me?"

"Dean, no." The hand that fell on his shoulder was warm, and it took him a second to realize it was matching up perfectly with his scar, soothing away the burn from Lucifer's grasp. "I need to get you out of here, before it is no longer safe."

He let out a snort. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," he replied, his gaze flickering down to the Colt to make sure it was still there.

Now both of his shoulders were held in a firm grip, and Castiel gave him a slight shake. "I need to get you out of here," he repeated. "Your work is not finished."

Dean shook his head slowly. "I'm done," he said hollowly. "Find another sucker to do your damn work." He raised his eyes to Castiel's, feeling the utter bleakness in his heart bleed into his expression as he added hoarsely, "I've given all I can."

The bright blue eyes widened in understanding. "No," Castiel said firmly. "You are not done." Then he let go of Dean before swiftly kneeling down and hefting Sam into his arms as though he weighed no more than a child.

"What are you doing?" Dean barked, his whole body going tense.

"You need to put your hand on my back and hold on," the angel called over the roar of the fire and the demons' screams echoing around the room. "If you want to keep your sight, do not open your eyes no matter what you hear. Do you understand?"

The sight of his brother's lifeless face nestled against Castiel's shoulder sent a shudder down Dean's spine. When he lifted his eyes, he saw the angel's implacable gaze on him, and he knew that once again, he was going to be the good soldier and do what he was told. "All right," he tiredly replied.

Castiel gave a short nod and turned his back, the burden in his arms apparently not weighing him down at all. Eyeing him carefully, Dean bent down and scooped up the Colt, jamming it into the back of his waistband. Then he reached up and grabbed two handfuls of tan trench coat, closed his eyes, and held on.

It seemed as if the fabric in his hands was changing shape, or maybe texture was the better word. Then a humming sound struck his ear, like the low buzz from a high-tension power line. His fists shifted slightly outwards as the material they were holding moved, and he swore he could feel feathers brushing his fingers.

Then the ground dropped out from under his feet and Dean focused all of his attention on holding on as tight as he could. His fingers were soon cramping from grabbing...whatever it was he was grabbing, which he was really hoping wasn't feathers or skin or something up close and personal like that.

It could have been a few seconds or a few hours, but eventually Dean felt their pace slowing. There was a gentle thump under his feet, and he felt the uneven texture of gravel beneath his boots. The temperature around him was warm, and the rustle of leaves told him they were outside.

"You can look now, Dean."

He opened his eyes and staggered back a step. "The hell...?"

They were standing outside Bobby's house. He shouldn't be surprised that Castiel could take them halfway across the country in a matter of seconds, but it was still a shock to see leafy green trees and sunshine instead of the hellish smoke and fire of the battlefield they'd left. The dogs were quiet and the house was silent, and it finally occurred to Dean that if Bobby was around, he was probably down in the panic room, waiting for the end of the world.

Castiel was already striding away towards the house, Sam draped over his arms. Dean automatically followed. The door swung open as the angel approached, and he entered without hesitation, turning sideways so as not to jostle his burden against the doorframe. As Dean entered the silent house, the angel was already moving towards the stairs. Dean followed him up to the guest room, unable to tear his eyes away from his brother's still face as Castiel stooped to lay Sam down on the bed underneath the window. Memories of Cold Oak and its aftermath were rising up fast and thick, and he had to look away, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth so he didn't hurl all over the room.

The angel turned towards him, and a distant corner of Dean's mind noted that he no longer looked as tired and haggard as he had in the asylum. In fact, he looked like he was glowing a little bit. "You need to rest," he said, raising a hand towards Dean.

He saw the two fingers coming towards his forehead and tried to dodge. "What are you doing?" he demanded, but Castiel's other hand latched onto his forearm and kept him from moving. The angel touched his forehead, and Dean fought it as long as he could. But the warm darkness was overwhelming, and he sank into it without another sound.

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When Dean came to, the first thing he saw was Castiel, standing by the doorway, looking down at the twin bed next to the one he was lying on. Dean turned his head to the side, his gaze drawn like a magnet to his brother's body. It took a moment to sink in, but he soon recognized the gentle rise and fall of the sheets.

Sam was breathing.

Sam was alive.

"Oh, my God," Dean breathed out as he slowly sat up. "How—why—how did you..." He stared at Sam's chest, at his face, drinking in the sight of what he'd thought was lost. "Is he okay?"

"He has not regained consciousness, but that is to be expected." Castiel looked like his usual rumpled self again, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. "It might be a while before he wakes."

Dean watched for a moment, feeling a few of the shredded pieces within him start to knit themselves back together. He noted how Sam's eyes moved under their lids and marked the weary lines around his mouth that hadn't been there before. Then something else struck him, and he drew back his head, frowning.

In the familiar tangle of lanky brown hair, there was a single shock of white directly over Sam's forehead.

"What's with the hair?" he asked warily.

"It is difficult to go through an experience such as you both have now done and not be...marked in some way," the angel replied. "It is harmless."

"So it's not a sign of something?" Dean's heart was in his throat. "Like, 'evil lives here'?"

"Sam will be fine," came the reassuring answer, delivered with a gentle smile. "In spirit as well as in body. He is as you knew him before."

Dean let out a long breath at that, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He paused for a moment, thinking things over, letting this last puzzle piece slide into place. He set his jaw, letting a slow flame of anger begin to burn in order to give him strength for what was coming next.

Then he raised his head and looked Castiel in the eye. "Okay, then you have some explaining to do," Dean said. "Starting with whose moronic idea this con was in the first place."

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "Con?"

"Don't play stupid," Dean snarled as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. "I don't know what you know about how human brains work, but sometimes when we're asleep, the wheels keep on turning." He raised a hand to make a circular motion near the side of his head. "It's the only thing that makes sense about how all of this went down, including this." He pointed at his brother, alive and well next to him. "Sam was faking it. And so were you."

"Why do you say that?" the angel asked quietly, his clear blue eyes giving away nothing.

Dean started ticking off points on his fingers, his voice growing more like a growl with each one. "He never laid a hand on either one of us, not really. He broke some seals, yeah, but the ones that would do the least damage. And he made sure that me and the Colt were there to take him out, but that you were there to patch him up." He added with a lopsided smirk, "Oh yeah, and he kinda told me."

"When?" Castiel asked sharply.

"When he—" Dean broke off and looked over at Sam, remembering the apology that had been the first thing out of his little brother's mouth as the blood poured out of his chest, that final puzzle piece that hadn't made sense until it was clear that Castiel had never had any intention of letting Sam stay dead. "When we were having our Hallmark moment back there on the floor."

Castiel blinked. "You believed he had turned, did you not?"

"He knows damn well how to push my buttons." Dean glared. "And you helped him all the way, didn't you?"

Castiel lowered his head, and Dean thought he saw a flush creeping along the angel's cheeks. "It is a long story," he admitted.

Dean exhaled abruptly, relief and anger and guilt warring within him. "How could you do that to him?" he demanded. "You had to take him right up to the edge, didn't you? That's a helluva lot of trust to put in someone you wouldn't shake hands with six months ago."

Castiel raised his chin, looking surprisingly defensive for an angel of the Lord answering a human's question. "I had my reasons for acting as I did then. And I had my reasons for trusting Sam now."

Dean made a sharp gesture before folding his arms across his chest, afraid that if he didn't, he would be unable to stop from punching the angel. "Then explain it to me," he said tightly.

Castiel gave a slow nod. "All right." He licked his lips. "The first thing you should know is that Lucifer is gone. Erased from this world and all others. He and his followers cannot return."

Dean didn't move. "That's supposed to make me feel better, right?"

The corner of Castiel's mouth twitched. "The first thing _Sam_ thought you should know," he went on, "is that this was never a matter of trust. It was a matter of demons being able to read minds. If you had been privy to our plan, they would have known it in an instant, and all would have been lost."

He chewed on that for a moment, watching Sam's chest rise and fall, thinking about the helpless terror and betrayal he'd felt when he thought Sam was preparing to send the uber-demon into his body. "Mind reading, huh?" When Castiel nodded, he felt a little of the tightness ease in his chest.

"You should also know that the plan was always for Sam to take Lucifer into himself, never into you," Castiel added.

Dean shot the angel a look that clearly said _no shit._ That had been obvious as soon as Sam told his big brother to shoot him, not that it had clearly registered at the time. "So whose dumbass idea was all this, anyway?"

Castiel let out a small sigh. "I was the one who took Sam from your hotel room..."

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Surprise! (Or maybe not?) And it doesn't count as deathfic if they don't stay dead, right? If you only review a single chapter of this story, please make it this one; I really, really want to know what you think. I'll be over there in the corner biting my nails.

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	8. Sam

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I'm touched by the people who wrote to say they ordinarily wouldn't go near an evil!Sam story, but they gave it a shot anyway and are glad they did. It was really hard for me not to offer any hope in earlier chapters, but my beta who was in the know persuaded me it was stronger this way, and she was right. Thanks for hanging in there.

This chapter is an interlude of sorts. Writing it is how I originally worked out the plot and what it would take from Sam and Castiel to make it happen. Then it seemed like Sam deserved a chapter from his POV, so I decided to make it part of the story. Hope it answers your questions.

A while back, obsidian flight asked for the next chapter to be dedicated to those who didn't believe evil!Sam was really evil. I couldn't do it then, but I can do it now. This one's for those of you who never gave up on Sam.

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**Seventeen days earlier**

Sam awoke, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion. He'd gone to sleep in a motel room decorated completely in black and white, his and Dean's clothing and duffel bags the only spots of color in the place. He knew he hadn't been drinking; their latest hunt had been too critical and too tough for that. The soreness in his shoulder matched what he remembered from the demon slamming him into a tree trunk before he could splash it with holy water, which meant he wasn't dreaming.

So instead of a lumpy motel mattress, why was he lying down on a hard wooden bench with an arching stone ceiling above him?

"Do not be afraid."

The voice was familiar, but it didn't reassure him any. He bolted upright, vision blurring for a moment before recognizing Castiel sitting in the church pew in front of him, turned to face him. "Where are we?" Sam asked, and in the same breath, "where's Dean?"

Castiel apparently understood the priority of those questions, because he answered, "Dean is safe in your motel room. Uriel is watching over him."

Sam's eyebrows lifted. Those two statements seemed to contradict rather than confirm each other. "And where are we?" he repeated.

"A place we can talk." Castiel gestured at the simple altar at the front of the room and the stained-glass windows behind it. The chapel was dark except for a few candles in wall sconces, but Sam wasn't having any trouble seeing thanks to a soft light that seemed to come from the pew in front of him.

He cocked his head to the side. "Castiel, are you _glowing_?"

The angel shifted further in his seat, resting a knee sideways on the bench next to him so he could face Sam straight-on. "I have more power in a consecrated location. Here, I can ensure that no one else will enter and no one will hear the words that we speak."

That sounded ominous. Sam bit his lip. They'd used Latin and holy water on the demon today, not his powers, although he had to admit he'd been tempted. Still, he couldn't help the slightly childish quaver to his voice as he asked, "Am I in trouble?"

"No." The answer was swift and curt. Before Sam could draw a relieved breath, however, Castiel went on, "We all are."

Sam drew back slightly. "What does that mean?" he asked, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arms. Sleeping in a thin t-shirt and boxers had worked fine in the overheated motel room, but a stone chapel in the middle of an early April night was not exactly toasty.

Castiel leaned on his forearm draped across the back of the pew. "I have a proposal for you," he said. "A plan by which you might be of assistance in the battle against Lucifer."

"Sure," Sam replied, half eager and half wary. "What do you need?" he asked.

The bright blue gaze momentarily dropped to the floor before reluctantly coming back to meet Sam's eyes. When the angel spoke, it was with a trace of hesitancy Sam had never heard from him. "It requires your death."

Sam blanched. His hands tightened around his arms as his heart skipped a beat. "Wh-what?" he somehow managed to stammer out as terror swiftly rose within him.

With a surprisingly gentle expression, Castiel reached out and laid a hand on Sam's bicep. He felt the warmth of it through his shirt, and the panic flaring within him abruptly leveled off. "You would have to place your trust in me," Castiel said. "You would have to trust me to restore you as your brother was restored." He paused to let that sink in, and then looked away again. "It also means that I would have to place my trust in you to an even greater extent. In perfect honesty, that is the most difficult part."

Heart pounding, Sam watched Castiel's profile. His face was as calm as it always was—except for the thinned lips and the slight tic pulsing under one eye. Sam stared at it for a moment, fascinated by this evidence that even angels got too exhausted to control their vessels' bodily motions. Then the implications of that sank in, and he sat back against the back of the pew, Castiel's hand falling away from him as he did so. "I think you'd better elaborate on that," he said sharply.

Castiel slowly nodded. Then he rose to his feet. "Come."

Sam followed him down the aisle past the rows of pews until they were standing in front of the altar. The angel was definitely putting out some kind of radiance now, throwing shadows across the walls in his wake. Being closer to the altar must offer some kind of extra power, he thought. Maybe it was like increasing the volume of white noise to muffle listening devices.

Despite the obvious display of power he was emitting, when Castiel folded his arms across his chest it looked more like a self-protective gesture than an attempt to look stern. Still, as Castiel drew himself up to his full height, Sam automatically slouched like he'd been doing around authority figures since he was sixteen. The tiniest of smiles quirked the corner of the angel's mouth before he spoke.

"There are no more than a dozen seals left," he began. "Lilith will have them broken in a matter of weeks. When she does, Lucifer will come forward onto the Earth. He will in turn bring forth any and all demons of his choosing and turn this place into a living Hell."

Sam pressed his lips together to keep back the Dean-like comment that sprang to mind: _Thanks for the recap, Cass, but we've seen the previous episodes._ Instead he said, "I understand that."

"There is no point in attempting further defense," Castiel went on. "There are too many demons roaming the Earth, too many opportunities for them to succeed. It is only a matter of time before they do."

_You mean you're giving up?_ Sam opened his mouth to shout, but then held himself back. _No, he's telling you why things suck so hard that you should even be considering whatever this stupid plan is_, he could hear Dean say, and so he clamped his jaw shut and nodded for Castiel to continue.

"So we must take the offensive." Castiel's shoulders shifted back slightly. "We must control the time and the place where battle is joined and use the weapons we have to our advantage."

This time he couldn't control the sarcasm. "Could you maybe be a little more vague?" Sam snapped. "Because right now, I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

He got a warning glare in response. "If we summon Lucifer ourselves and destroy him, the battle is won. Is that specific enough for you?"

There was silence for a moment. Then Sam said slowly, "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't as straightforward as you make it sound?"

"There are some...complexities," Castiel admitted. "Lilith's goal is to bring Lucifer forth in his own form, not possessing a human in the manner that she does. If that happens, there is no power on Earth that can stop him."

Sam licked his dry lips. "But if he's summoned into a human vessel, he can be killed?"

Castiel gave a single nod.

"How?" Sam demanded.

"The same way any demon can be killed," the angel replied. "There are weapons you have encountered that will suffice if wielded properly, such as the gun or the knife."

Sam cocked his head to the side, slightly confused. "But not by..." He reached up and tapped two fingers to his temple.

"No." Castiel shook his head firmly. "No demon has the power to overcome the Prince of Darkness, and therefore no one with demon-derived abilities would fare any better."

Sam frowned. "Then what do you want from me?" _Besides my death_, he managed not to say.

Castiel drew in a deep breath, watching Sam closely as he spoke. "It is my belief that you have access to power within you that is strong enough to allow Lucifer to possess you without losing total control."

Sam drew his head back sharply. At first he was sure he must have misheard Castiel's words, but the grave expression on the other's face told him he had heard loud and clear. And as the angel's meaning sank in, he realized he'd never been so frightened of his supernatural powers in his entire life.

He swallowed hard and said the first thing that came to mind. "I, uh, I've been possessed before, and I didn't exactly have control of anything then."

"You were not then in full command of your abilities." Castiel shifted his weight from one foot to another. "If you open yourself up to them fully as you have never done—and you have been correct not to do so—this should be within the realm of possibility."

Sam let out a bark of a laugh. "It better be a hell of a lot more than 'within the realm of possibility', Cass. We're talking fucking _Lucifer_..." He trailed off, slightly shaking his head, barely able to comprehend what was being asked of him.

"I know it is a lot to ask of you." Castiel tilted his head slightly forward. "I would not if I thought there was another choice."

Sam looked back at him for a moment, reading the honesty that was practically coming off the angel in waves. "So I summon this demon, allow him to possess me, let you kill me and him, and then you bring me back to life?" He was proud that his voice cracked only once in that entire surreal sentence.

It occurred to him to wonder if anyone had ever been resurrected by both an angel _and_ a demon. _Bet there's not an entry for that in the Guinness Book of World Records_.

Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "Well, I guess I can understand why you didn't want Dean here," as he gestured to the rest of the empty chapel with one arm. "Given what he's done in the past when I died."

Castiel lifted his head, and the power of his gaze was almost too much for Sam to look upon. "Dean has his own role to play," he said, and Sam's stomach dropped further with the dread of what could come next. The breath that Castiel heaved in didn't ease his worry. "The nature of the embodiment of Lucifer's soul within a human vessel means that he can only be killed by another human." His eyes spoke the rest of the answer.

"No!" Sam shook his head so hard that he felt his hair flying back and forth, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the chapel. "No, Dean would never do that. I don't care how much I told him to do it, even if he knew it would save the world, I don't think he could—could kill me."

"I know," the angel responded heavily. "And the demons that will likely be around you would be able to read his mind and therefore know his attack on you was part of a plan. Which is why he has to think you have succumbed to your powers and, as he would say, gone 'dark side'."

Sam staggered back a step as if Castiel's words had been a blow. When he opened his mouth, it was barely a whisper that issued forth. "And how am I supposed to make him think that?"

"I will guide you," Castiel replied swiftly. "You will have my assistance the entire time. You will not be alone, Sam." The reassurance of his steady gaze was lessened somewhat when he bit his lip, unfolding his arms to let his hands fall to his sides. "However, there are additional complications."

Briefly closing his eyes, Sam wished that this was all a bad dream induced by too much pizza and that he'd wake up in the motel room to hear Dean snoring softly in the other bed. He briefly wondered what would happen if he said no: would Castiel bring him back and wipe his mind clean? Bring him back and let him think about the consequences of his refusal when the seals were inevitably broken and Lucifer walked free?

He wasn't yet ready to admit to himself that there was no way he was going to say no.

"What else?" he asked quietly, straightening his shoulders as if to take another hit.

"It is a matter of timing," Castiel replied. "Lucifer can not be summoned until the sixty-six seals have been broken. Once that happens, there is a narrow window of time before he can appear on his own. It is in that window that we must act."

"You said that was likely to happen soon, right?" Sam asked. The way the angel's gaze flickered away from his made the knot in his stomach grow tighter. "No, wait," he said. "You said something about choosing the time and place of battle."

"That is correct," Castiel said with a nod.

Sam pressed his lips together. "So the best way to do that would be to break the remaining seals ourselves."

Another nod in response, and Sam started to feel queasy. "But—the demons are still out there too. What if they break the final one and we don't know about it?"

"We have to act quickly," Castiel replied. "And...openly."

He _really_ didn't like the sound of that. And then it meshed with the earlier part of the plan, the part about Dean thinking he'd turned traitor, and he really did think he was going to throw up.

Then something else clicked into place, and he leaned slightly forward. "A moment ago, you said you would have to trust me." Sam nodded sideways at the empty pews where they had been sitting. "Did you mean to keep control of things when...?" Somehow he couldn't bring himself to say _when Lucifer is possessing me_, because that phrase was beyond ludicrous.

Down at his sides, Castiel's fingers momentarily flexed. He cleared his throat and said, "It is my expectation that when you take on all of the power that is in your blood, it will...attract others. They will expect you to be in command, and they will want an indication thereof." His hands curled into fists. "It should suffice for this purpose for you to be holding me as your prisoner."

Sam's sharp intake of breath collided with the lump in the back of his throat, sending him into a coughing fit that had him doubling over, pressing his hand to his chest. Dimly, he heard Castiel step forward and place a hand on his back, and the pain of the coughing eased somewhat. But the pain of the nerves in his gut didn't diminish at all.

"You want what?" he gasped out, his breaths coming irregularly as the coughing ceased.

"I told that I would be with you," Castiel replied, the weight of his hand warm and reassuring. "Unfortunately, the only way that can happen is if I appear to be under your power."

Sam stood up abruptly, throwing off the angel's hand and whirling to look him in the eye. "Let me get this straight," he said, forcing his voice to sound angry instead of scared. "You've been threatening me for seven months not to use these powers of mine. You brought my brother back from _Hell_ to keep me from using them. And now you're telling me to go ahead and give in to them because I _might_ be strong enough to overpower _Lucifer_ in my own body while keeping you prisoner?"

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "I would not be asking if I had doubts as to your strength."

Sam stared at him, his heart pounding loudly enough that he could hear it, his breaths uneven and harsh. When he spoke, it was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it still echoed off the stone walls around them. "But if I fail, it's the end of the world," he said, his voice trembling. "Castiel, how—how can you ask me to do that?"

"Because of what is at stake," came the grim reply. Before Sam could step back, the angel's hand was moving upwards, two fingers extended.

When they reach Sam's forehead, the world shuts off.

At first, all he sees is darkness. It's the sounds that register first: a rustling noise at the edge of his hearing that instantly raises his hackles, followed by a far-off shriek. Then the shrieks grow louder and the light gets a little brighter, or maybe his eyes are getting used to the garnet-red darkness.

And then the pain hits, and he can't believe he didn't notice that first, given how all-encompassing it suddenly is. He looks down and sees hooks embedded in his skin, connected to chains that stretch his body taut above an endless yawning chasm. Something's not right (_no shit, really?_ he thinks), but it takes a moment to recognize that the body he's looking at isn't his. It's shorter, more compact, with freckles in places that Sam doesn't have—

But that Dean does.

And then the void below him is gone, but he's strapped to a metal rack, limbs stretched to their fullest extent, and terror is beating in his chest instead of the heart he no longer has. There are knives coming at him from multiple sides, and it occurs to him to wonder how he can be feeling the sharp slice of a blade from so many directions at once when he has to be lying on _something_, but then he realizes where he is and that the laws of physics probably don't apply here the same way they do on the surface.

He feels the tiniest moment of triumph at telling off Alastair at the end of the day, but as he experiences each day, all of them in fast-forward, blurred together into one long nightmare, that triumph grows smaller. And eventually, even though Sam knows it's coming—because he knows how this story ends—he still can't hold back tears at the whispered "Yes" that leads to the cessation of thirty years of pain and the breaking of a spirit that goes along with it.

Then he tries to close his eyes, but the rules of the vision don't change just because he's the one wielding the knife now. Thirty years of torture give a soul a lot of ideas, and it takes five fast-forwarded years before he sees the hands in front of him try something new. Sam is not yet past the horror of that when there's a blinding light, a burning pain in his shoulder that's somehow different from the fires of the pit, and then there's darkness and the scents of pine wood and earth all around him.

He jerked back violently, and the images shut off like a switch.

Instead of fire, he saw the cool stone walls and the soft colors of the stained glass lit by the first rays of dawn. All he heard was the wind rustling the trees outside, and the sweet scent of early lilacs in a white vase on the altar was almost enough to chase away the remembered stench of burning flesh and blood.

In front of him, Castiel was lowering his hand to his side, watching him carefully.

Sam cleared his throat, surprised not to find it raw from screaming. "You had no right to do that," was the first thing out of his mouth, the words slightly unsteady. "Dean wouldn't—he doesn't want me to know the details."

Castiel bobbed his head slightly. "I know," he replied, regret coloring his voice. "But you wanted to know how I can ask you to take on this burden. I am sure you have a vivid imagination, Sam, but what you saw is real. What you saw will happen not only to Dean and yourself, but to everyone you know and everyone you've ever met, and there will be no escape for them, even in death, if we do not do this."

Only the very strong desire not to desecrate the altar kept Sam from dropping to his knees and puking. How could he possibly refuse to do everything he could to keep that from happening? As abhorrent as the thought was of making Dean think he had gone dark side, as dangerous as this whole plan was, he could do it if it meant keeping his brother's nightmare from coming to pass for all humankind.

Sam bit his lip. "I've wanted so badly to be able to make something good out of this," he said softly, running his thumb over his upturned wrist and the blue-purple veins visible beneath his skin. He raised his head to look at Castiel. "You really think I can do this?"

"I do." Castiel reached out and laid a hand on the altar, which flared to life with the same gentle glow that the angel was giving off. "And I am not the only one."

Sam followed his gaze upwards to see the first rays of the sunrise shining through the windows, illuminating the image of God watching over the Madonna and newborn Jesus. It might have been a trick of the light, but the eyes of the bearded figure seemed to be looking straight at him with an approving expression.

And then the image gave a single nod.

Sam drew in a sharp breath and looked at Castiel. "Did you do that?" he asked cautiously.

The angel shook his head. "I am not the only one," he repeated, his gaze intense.

Sam stared at him for a moment before warily looking back at the window. It looked perfectly normal now, but he knew what he'd seen.

_Dude, talk about a sign from God_, he could hear Dean say.

He had a million questions to ask, a million terrified what-ifs to address and a million ways that it could go wrong. But the miracle before his eyes and the voice of his brother in his ear were weaving themselves together around his heart like an impregnable suit of armor, lending him confidence and urgency and strength.

So Sam stood tall with his shoulders back and his head high, little knowing that in the days ahead, it was only by holding onto that image of armor around him that he would be able to keep his sanity intact.

"Okay," he said to Castiel, drawing in a deep breath. "Let's do this."

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Raise your hand if you think Sam needs a hug right now...or twenty...


	9. One Condition

I think I've been stalling on posting this final chapter because I don't want to let go. *sniff* Maybe I'll have to let those sequel ideas swirling around in my head get a little more of my attention...Anyway, here's my last chance to again thank my betas, ster1 and kasman, for their awesome work. Thanks to R.E.M. for providing the title and epigrams and actually the entire narrative structure. I also want to thank everyone who reviewed and alerted; you made the writing worthwhile.

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then I raise my voice up higher  
and I look you in the eye  
and I offer love with one condition.  
with conviction, tell me why  
tell me why.

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Dean's eyes slowly blinked open as a beam of sunlight poked through the gap in the curtains and splashed across his face. He felt like he'd been asleep for days, though in truth he had no idea how long it had been.

Castiel had told his story late into the night as Sam continued to sleep. About halfway through, a noise from downstairs had startled them both. Castiel had silently gone to check it out, returning a few minutes later with a shotgun-toting Bobby, who'd been taking cover in his panic room after getting the news that the seals were broken. When he saw both Winchesters alive and well, he'd gotten a look of joy on his face like Dean had never seen on the old man. Castiel had to start his tale over to get Bobby up to speed, and by the time he was done, Dean had nearly passed out from exhaustion.

Throughout all of this, Sam hadn't awakened, but Castiel hadn't seemed concerned. He'd promised to keep watch, even when Dean asked if he had other angel things he needed to be doing. Castiel had shaken his head with a warm smile, and Dean had gratefully sunk into sleep, his mind spinning with questions that would have to wait until he was conscious enough to hear the answers.

"Dean?"

Startled by the voice, Dean sat up abruptly, and the room started to spin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone sitting on the edge of the other bed reach out for him and then draw back. When he looked up and saw that it was Sam, he drew in a sharp breath.

The younger man shrank back further, drawing his arms around himself as if he were cold, looking down at the worn wooden boards of the floor. The space between the two beds was only a couple of feet, but it suddenly felt like a mile.

Dean looked his brother over, noting the tight set of his folded arms and the shadows under his eyes. "You okay?" Dean whispered.

"I'm fine." Sam's voice sounded rusty, and he cleared his throat, eyes glued to the ground. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," he automatically replied. "Sam, you—you're..."

"It's okay, Dean, it's—" Sam's lips moved as if he was going to say _It's me_, but he broke off and dropped his head. "It's okay," he quietly repeated as his shoulders hunched a little more. "You're safe."

Dean nodded slowly, drinking in the sight of his brother awake and whole and in front of him. He looked a little pale, but he wasn't showing any signs of injury, aside from the shock of white hair that would serve as a permanent reminder of what he'd been through. Given how he was huddled inwards, Sam looked like a younger version of himself, awaiting a scolding for not running enough laps or hitting enough targets.

It was a far cry from the last time Dean had seen him awake.

Time ticked by, the silence growing thicker all the while. Finally, Sam swallowed and said, "Bobby went into town, but, uh, I can get Castiel if you'd rather talk to him." He started to stand up without lifting his gaze.

"No!" Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's left wrist. The younger man winced, and Dean pulled back. "Sorry," he said, his eyes traveling upwards to Sam's chest, as if he could see the bullet hole through his t-shirt and flannel.

"It's all right," Sam said. He took a deep breath. Then he unbuttoned his outer shirt and pulled it and the t-shirt far enough down to reveal a neat, round scar with the slightest puckering around the edges, on the outer edge of the black flames of his tattoo.

Dean looked at it for a long moment, wondering if there was anyone else walking around out there with a bullet hole centered over their heart. "You, uh, you should ask for your money back," he said tentatively. "Cass brought _me_ back all shiny and new."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up, and he slowly lifted his eyes to meet Dean's. "I wasn't clawed apart by hellhounds and buried in a box for four months," he replied just as hesitantly.

"True," Dean replied with quirk of his eyebrows. _You were shot. By me._ He couldn't get the words past the sudden lump in his throat.

Silence fell again, and it was just as awkward as before. Sam eventually lowered his hands to his sides and sat back down, but his gaze kept flickering to Dean's face and then away again, looking like he was about to bolt at any minute.

Dean gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed and cleared his throat. "Cass, uh, told me. What he said to you to get you to do this." He licked his lips nervously. "You were amazing, dude."

Sam shook his head sharply. "Don't say that," he hissed. "Dean, I had to—I had to hold you prisoner and pretend to torture Castiel. I had to make you think I was going to _kill_ you and then that I was going to force Lucifer into you. God, I _did_ kill..." His voice broke and he shut his eyes tightly, clearly unable to go on.

"Hey, you listen to me. Lilith wouldn't have picked which seals to break based on keeping the casualties down, and you know it." Dean waited until Sam was looking back at him before going on, "You saved lives playing it the way you did."

"How many people died in California, huh?" Sam shot back.

"A few dozen," Dean replied calmly. "Bobby said it had something to do with how most of the quake's energy was directed away from the surface, and now all the seismologists are totally confused."

"Good for them," Sam muttered, but his features were a little less bleak.

Dean sighed. "I know about the mind-reading thing, too. How you would have trusted me if you could." _I don't blame you_, his tone said.

"Yeah." Sam drew in a shaky breath. "It had to be you, Dean. You're the only one I _knew _would hold out until you were absolutely sure I couldn't be saved. But we still figured the only way that you'd actually shoot me was to think that I had—that I really was on the wrong side."

Dean's heart beat faster as he remembered the terror that had gripped him when he saw Castiel in invisible chains and again when Lucifer was being summoned before his eyes, how his own resolve had slowly been strengthened by the unbelievable things his brother was doing until Dean had done what he'd never thought he could do. "You're probably right," he grudgingly admitted.

The gaze that met his was hesitant, but there was relief lurking in the blue-green depths of Sam's haunted eyes.

"So you remember it all?" Dean couldn't help asking.

"Yeah," Sam said hoarsely. "All of it."

Dean looked away across the room. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he replied fervently. He didn't know what kinds of memories were locked up inside his brother's head right now, but he could imagine. Forty years in Hell might well equal fifteen minutes of possession by Lucifer, not to mention the consequences of the seals Sam had broken and having all that power unleashed inside of him.

A look of understanding flitted across Sam's face. "You know that he showed me what happened to you, right?"

Dean gave a tight nod. "If sharing all those damn memories helped, I'm glad. Since they made me totally freak out on you." He huffed out a breath. "I almost blew it and I didn't even know it."

When Sam tilted his head to the side in the move that always made Dean think of a basset hound, Dean went on, "When you were. Um." He waved a hand in the air. "When Luci first showed up."

"_Luci_?" Sam's eyes bugged out. "Are you kidding me?"

"I do not think it was said in jest."

The voice from the doorway made them both jump. Castiel was standing there, arms folded across his chest, looking faintly amused. "While I do not entirely understand this need of yours to reduce the length of someone's name, it seems to be a defense mechanism against beings you find intimidating."

Dean glared at him. "Good morning to you, too, _Castiel_," he said deliberately.

He barely heard the soft snort from Sam—but damn, it was good to hear it..

"Your 'freaking out' was not unexpected, Dean," Castiel went on. "Nor was it as harmful as you might think."

Dean frowned, remembering how he had dropped to his knees in front of Lucifer, leaving the angel to face him all alone. "I totally blanked out at a kinda critical moment, so yeah, I'd call that harmful."

"It kept the truth from your mind," Castiel pressed. He took a few steps into the room, coming to stand at the foot of Dean's bed. "If you had been thinking about the availability of a weapon, Lucifer would have seen it in an instant. Your fear inadvertently shielded your true thoughts long enough for Sam to fight him and provide an opening for you."

"Huh." Dean chewed his lower lip, meeting Sam's eyes and reading the same dawning understanding that he felt on his own face. Maybe all those months of torment by his memories of Hell had had a purpose after all. After a moment, he said, "I guess we can file that one under 'mysterious ways', right?"

Castiel gave a slight nod. "I believe so, yes."

Dean looked back and forth between the angel and his brother for a moment, taking in the surprisingly similar looks on their faces—wary but resolute, uncomfortable yet hopeful—and he suddenly understood that right now, they would answer any question he asked. "So you can't really..." He lifted both arms as if someone had told him to stick-'em-up and flickered his eyes to Castiel and back to Sam. "To him?"

"Oh, God, no," Sam assured him with a faint look of horror. "Castiel was doing that all on his own."

"Really." Dean cocked his head as he looked at the angel. "Didn't know you could fake it like that."

Castiel lightly shrugged one shoulder. "I was not truly confined, but I doubt the demons would have allowed me to leave had I wished." He flicked his gaze to Sam. "I also doubt it was outside the realm of possibility had you tried to overpower me."

Sam flinched. "Guess we'll never know, will we?"

"You mean you're not the psychic wonder boy anymore?" Dean asked with eyebrows raised.

Sam shook his head, the first hint of a smile playing around his lips. "It's gone, Dean. It's all gone."

Dean drew his head back. "Really?"

"Sam's abilities came from a demonic source," Castiel interjected. "Without that source to draw on, he is no longer marked or special in any way."

"Aw, Sammy'll always be _special_," Dean jibed, but the affection in his voice overrode the teasing. It still got him an eye roll in response.

He mulled things over for a while, thinking of everything that had happened in the old asylum and how a lot of things suddenly made a lot more sense. These two had put their lives and more into each other's hands, and somehow, it had all worked out as planned. "You guys really knew you could pull this off, huh?" he finally said.

Castiel and Sam exchanged a slightly hesitant look. Dean unfolded his arms and sat up straighter, watching them warily. Then Castiel turned to him and said with only the slightest pause, "We were...pretty sure."

He blinked, too stunned to move. "Damn, you really were hanging out with Sam for a while, weren't you?"

Sam let out a huff of breath. "It was a risk, yeah," he said quietly. "But there wasn't much choice. Lucifer was coming, one way or another."

When Dean met his brother's eyes that time, the memory of the evil that had shone out from them made him shudder before he could stop himself. Sam gave a sad half-smile and looked away. Dean couldn't imagine what it must have been like to have the Prince of Darkness possessing him, and he wasn't about to ask.

Instead he simply said, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam looked up, his brow knotted in a puzzled furrow. "What for?"

"I believed you." He sighed. "I should have known you'd never actually go dark side. Man, I am so sorry." It felt like the worst kind of betrayal to realize that he'd actually thought his brother had given it all up and thrown in his lot with the evil they'd been fighting their whole lives. Truth be told, he wasn't even sure how Sam was looking him in the eye at this point.

"No, Dean." Sam leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. "You had every right to think that. You were _supposed_ to think that, and I'm glad you did."

"Well, yeah, it turned out all right in the end, but still—"

"No, you don't get it." Sam's voice was growing firmer. "I've been counting on you to do what had to be done for two years now, and there were plenty of times I thought you wouldn't be able to do it. So I'm glad that you believed it, Dean. I'm glad you went through with it."

He quirked up an eyebrow. "Dude, you're glad that I shot you?"

"Under the circumstances, yeah." Sam's eyes were shining.

Dean cleared his throat, determined to head this off before the sap could rise to a toxic level. "Yeah, but you couldn't have turned, Sammy. You're too damn goody-two-shoes to really lose it."

"You have no idea." The younger man's voice was deadly serious. "It was harder than I thought it would be to keep it under control. If you hadn't shown up when you did, if you hadn't been there with me at the end..." Sam's voice trailed off as a shiver swept his body. Then he looked over to Castiel. "You knew what you were doing," he said, clapping a hand to Dean's shoulder in an unmistakable reference.

In case there was any doubt remaining, Castiel confirmed that he was a heavenly being and not a human by missing the opportunity for the world's biggest "I told you so." Instead he inclined his head at Sam and let a small smile grace his features.

Dean straightened up and let Sam's hand fall away from his shoulder. "So, what work do you have for us?"

Castiel looked confused. "Work?"

"Well, you told me you had work for me to do after you—" Dean made an upwards scooping motion with one hand. "So I figure the same must be true for Sam now."

Slowly, the light dawned in Castiel's blue eyes, and then spread to a grin that overtook his entire face. "You misunderstand, Dean. There is no debt for either of you to pay, nothing to be earned. Sam took a tremendous risk and showed steadfastness and faith throughout. I have only done the same."

"And he wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid if I really was dead," Sam interjected. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Not that there's anyone to bargain your soul to at the moment, anyway."

"Wait, you're telling me if we went and planted a box at the nearest crossroads, no one would show up?" When Castiel shook his head, Dean's eyebrows shot up as high as they could go. "Huh." That explained the confused-looking demons who'd faded away after being exorcised back at the asylum. But how could there really be nowhere for them to go?

Castiel must have seen the question in his eyes, for he said, "You have not eliminated all of demonkind, Dean. That is not possible, not as long as humans sin and attempt to thwart the will of the Lord. But for now, with Lucifer and everyone who followed him gone, a generation or more will pass before demons trouble the Earth again."

"Wow," Dean said, not quite able to grasp the concept of having killed a lifetime's worth of demons in one fell swoop. _Talk about crossing things off the to-do list._ After a moment, he turned to his brother. "Sammy, you're gonna have to write a book, you know. A couple of books. Otherwise hunters won't know anything about how to get rid of demons when they come back."

"Guess I need something to keep me busy," Sam said quietly, his gaze going distant. Then he shook his head as if chasing something away. "I'll be fine," he said in answer to the question Dean hadn't yet asked. Then he looked up at his big brother, his eyes filled with emotion he didn't usually display. "As long as you're here, Dean."

Dean felt a warm smile spread across his face in response, and he replied, "Right back atcha, kiddo."

Then he paused, the grin freezing on his face. _This is weird_.

"All right, what's going on here?" he asked Castiel. "I should be wanting to kick both of your asses into next week for putting one over on me like you did." He pointed at Sam. "And now you're talking like a total girl and I'm not complaining about it when I should be so pissed off I can't see straight. But instead..." He trailed off and furrowed his forehead, trying to put a name to the emotion coursing through him. "I'm...happy?"

Sam broke into a grin and lunged toward him, wrapping his arms around Dean before he could stop him. More than that, he found himself returning the hug, barely to remember a time when a brotherly embrace hadn't come at the heels of one or the other of them nearly or actually biting it.

Happy. Now that he had put a word to the feeling, it was suddenly overwhelming him, seeping in through the cracks in his battered soul, warming him like a friendly campfire when he hadn't realized he was cold.

"I know what you mean. There's all these things I should be thinking about, all this horrible stuff that should be overwhelming me. But it's like it's getting pushed aside right now by this joy that I haven't felt in..." Sam shook his head, a disbelieving grin on his face as he drew back and draped an arm over Dean's shoulders. "In I don't know how long."

Castiel's beaming expression was nothing short of angelic. "It is not surprising. You and your brethren have been living under a shadow for millennia," he explained. "The shadow of Lucifer and his desire to rule the Earth. Yes, there will be mourning and grieving and rebuilding to do. But today, thanks to you—" He held out an arm, gesturing at them both. "Today, the sun has finally come out."

"Talk about killing the Big Bad," Dean said, smirking at his brother and maybe leaning a tiny bit into him. Just to make the kid feel better. Sam tightened his grip on Dean's shoulders and pressed back.

Dean had just closed his eyes for a second when something occurred to him. "Oh, no," he said sharply, straightening up and pulling back from Sam, his eyes going wide.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, instantly alarmed.

"My car!" Dean explained. "She's been in Rockford for like a week. Who knows what could have happened to her?"

"Oh, my God," Sam muttered, flopping back onto the bed and putting a hand to his forehead. "You scared the crap out of me, Dean."

"Your vehicle is fine, as are your belongings." Castiel sounded more than a little amused. "As soon as you feel up to it, I can take you there."

Dean bounded to his feet. "I'm up to it," he said instantly. "Sam?"

"I could use some fresh air," Sam agreed, coming to his feet. "We'll just leave a note for Bobby and tell him we'll be back. Can you take us both, Cass?"

Dean's throat tightened, and he looked away from Castiel at the reminder of the despair-filled trip to Bobby's. But all the angel said was, "Yes, I can."

"You ready?" Dean asked. "Hey, Sam, remember that diner in Dixon with the awesome pie? That's gonna be our first stop."

"And then where?" Sam asked, turning to face him with that patient but affectionate grin that he'd given Dean so many times over the years.

Dean looked at his brother for a moment, taking in the white hair over his forehead and thinking of everything they'd gone through in the past few years, everything he and Sam had suffered for each other here on Earth and below. He thought about the terror of the past few weeks, how Sam knew him well enough to trick him into believing the worst and how Dean had given into fear and kept his promise. He thought about watching Sam die and Lucifer along with him, and what that meant for the whole world, now and into the future.

And he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was all worth it.

"Where we always go, Sam," he said, clapping a hand to his brother's arm and returning the grin. "Wherever the road takes us."

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Aaaaand, that's a wrap. Please click on that Review link one last time on your way out, and thanks for riding with Z!


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